Inside Out
by StillHaddicted
Summary: Set in season 7. An unexpected visit will put House in an uncomfortable position, and force him to deal with things he thought he had left behind. But that won't stop him from tackling a challenging case, with the help of a very special partner.
1. Chapter 1

_I wrote this story a couple of years ago, after I fought with myself for a while whether to give this complex – and crazy – idea a shot or not. The start might be a little rough and scary, but if you bear with it you will get a story all about the strength and power of Huddy love…and something else you didn't see coming._

1

"Done," House puffed with a cheering voice, throwing the pen across his desk.

He then looked around, disappointed nobody but the skull on his desk was there to share his triumph. However, since he usually lived his victories on his own it didn't really bother him, so he just shrugged and opened the drawer looking for the bourbon bottle. House unscrewed the cap and while pouring some liquor in his red mug he glanced quickly at the conference room, glad to find it empty as it was supposed to be, the team busy performing exams on their patient.

Chronic fatigue, joint paint and insomnia on a 21 years old kid: not enough to keep them busy for the entire night, but sure enough to explain a prolonged stay at the hospital. Those symptoms could more likely lead to nothing, as much as open various doors on cool and rare diseases. The case was intriguing for the team, and even Masters seemed pretty much on a high. House was intrigued by the patient himself – some vice-boss of a street gang who however looked more like an altar boy– symptoms were cool and he had thrown himself into the new case in the blink of an eye.

He checked his watch again, thinking the right timing for him was about to come. The time for Rachel to go to bed and being sound asleep, and hopefully for Cuddy to having missed him enough during the day and be up for some extreme cuddling.

At that thought, a teasing grin formed on his lips. It still itched him when he had to spend the night away from his place but he was no fool, accommodation at Cuddy's manor had its perks: they could take all their time before, during and after, and he could enjoy Cuddy without even have her worry for Rachel or the baby sitter. According to a schedule he had become familiar with, in that moment, Cuddy was feeding Rachel with Wednesday's spaghetti: pasta worked fast on her tiny stomach fast, causing the kid to sleep like a lethargic bear. And allowing him to enjoy Cuddy through the night, giving her a surprise visit. He had told her he would have worked till late on the case, announcing he would have gone home straight from the hospital. He smiled to himself again, savoring the moment he would have snooped behind her, his hands showing her how much he had missed her, hopefully with no crying kid around.

Not that he disliked the kid, he had to admit for not being Cuddy's biological daughter she came damn close to look like a real one…but since he was a grown up man, with understandable very adults and healthy needs, no wonder he liked mommy better. Therefore, he took his time, planning the last details in his mind. With Rachel asleep, he would have offered Cuddy a glass of wine, to relax her muscles and nerves after the long day, preparing the ground for the main act.

Once he thought enough time have passed, House set his computer and stood up checking his pager and cell phone to make sure the team wasn't about to ruin his plans, then put on his coat and hooked his backpack with the cane swinging it on his shoulder. He walked past by the desk and was half on his way out when he stopped, remembering there was still a last drip of bourbon to kill in the mug. He went back to the desk and took care of it – never waste a good one - and when he turned around toward the door again he found out he wasn't alone anymore.

"This is no place for visitors," House said with a flat voice, studying the young Hispanic guy who had just stepped in, large as a two doors closet. "And I'm off the clock anyway."

His words did not provoke any reaction in his guest, House looked at him better and frowned at the guy's gloved hands. Troubles, House could read them all over the man pumped pectorals and biceps, almost ripping his grey and blue shirt like Lou Ferrigno at his green best. Still he didn't budge, he was not a man of action but a man of thinking and his mind raced looking for a strategy, quickly brushing off of the list go muscles on muscles. They guy could have ripped ribs out of his chest and use them to play Shanghai, for all House knew that was how he used to spend his nights out…when he wasn't busy killing with his bare hands people of the opposite gang. A second look reassured House at least there was no gun, but still he had to find a way to prevent that mountain of muscles from beating him to a pulp, something the guy seemed determined in doing.

Therefore when he stepped toward him with the look of a man who loved to mess with people's bones, House realized he had one and only strategy.

Surprise.

The young man was almost at one arm length from him when House grabbed his giant tennis ball and threw it at the guy. As every steroid pumped up junkie, quickness and reflex weren't his best abilities, and the ball hit him right on his nose. Not a strong shot of course but that wasn't the purpose, but it was strong enough to cause his eyes to flutter, the window of action House was waiting for. With his guards down, the guy didn't see House's cane swinging in the air and hit his plexus, cutting the air provisioning to his lungs. The man bent down gasping for air, as quickly as he could House held the cane with both hands like a baseball bat and hit the base of his neck. Satisfied by the howl of pain he got as answer, House then hammered his cane in the middle of the guy's stomach. Panting, House gathered his energies and while the man was still grasping for air he hooked his right ankle and pulled the strongest he could, sending his unwanted guest to roll on the floor, banging his head on the ground.

Adrenaline was running fast in his veins but didn't blurred his mind, and House kept a watchful eye on the choking man on the floor of his office while searching his pockets for his cell phone.

"Never trust a man with a cane," House muttered boldly, then stared at his phone browsing the list of contacts.

But before he could find hospital's security number, something hit his back and someone turned off the lights. A sudden and brutal force pushed him forward, taken by surprise he tripped on the guy still lying on the floor, nothing but his instinct helping him to stretch his arms and avoid a violent landing on his desk. Not that it really helped, before he could even turn around and see the second man he received a couple of punches on his lower back, losing his breath. Things didn't get any better when House managed to turn around. The first guy had recovered and blocked his arms while the second one – who looked similar with the same outfit and ethnic affiliation - granted his stomach with a series of punches.

Grasping for air House tried to gather the few oxygen left in his lungs, and push it to his brain. Taking advantage of a pause of his attackers, he kicked the man in front of him, then threw his head back seeing stars as his nape smashed on the guy's nose. His fierce resistance had two different and opposite consequences: on the short-term it gave House the chance to free himself from the grasp and catch up with some air, but on the long run did nothing but increase the two guy's vehemence. Before he could even see it coming, a fist as big as his oversized tennis ball impacted on his nose. House closed his eyes, seeing bright lights and colors, then felt a stranger hand rip the cane off of his hands and right after he had the not so nice revelation of how it felt like have it smashed on the back of his neck. He bent down grunting in pain, touching the hit part he felt sticky blood on his fingers, but the cane smashed on him again right before a foot armed with a military boot crashed on his ribcage and threw him on the floor. It didn't last long, two strong and not so gentle hands seized his shoulders and dragged him on his feet, throwing his already exhausted body across the room, over the desk and behind it. His head was pulsing painfully as his mouth tasted of blood because of a deep cut in his upper lip, the mixed and not so good sensation it gave him overpowered beyond limits when he was pushed forcefully against the x-ray screen on the wall. House heard the crash, but even more felt the broken glasses pouring like a sharp and cutting rain all over his head and face, a kind of pain that was quickly beaten once he was thrown down on the ground and kicked with an impressive precision right on his kidney.

In a lame attempt of reaction House grossed more blows, his mind unable to tell him where he was beaten and where he wasn't. Ribcage and stomach, face and head, arms and legs. Then suddenly everything stopped, leaving his whole body pulse and echo in the most excruciating pain he had ever felt, made even worse by the medical knowledge it would have been with him for a long time. His mind was somehow trying to list him his injuries, counting fractures and valuing recover times when the two attackers approached him again. House swallowed down a dense lump of saliva and blood, unable to even think of a counter move when they dragged him on his feet again. They pushed him with his back on what was left of the x-ray screen, then a couple of punches shuttered his jaw before one of the guy held his chin up. On a subconscious level House was impressed that intense activity hadn't tired the men at all, then he tossed the thought apart when he realized given the painful grip on his jaw that one was now more likely broken too.

When the man closest to him said something, his rumbling ears could barely register it. House found himself wonder how long he would have had to wait for unconsciousness to come and end the torture, one way or the other. In his mind, he was begging for a numbing liberation, although he realized it could have been a fatal one when the other man picked up his helmet. He saw it swing in the air, he had the time to think of the irony of being hurt with an object that was supposed to protect him, then he felt the impact. The strike came right in the middle of his chest, causing him to almost puke his heart out, but left him lucid enough not to miss the explosion of pain when the helmet met the deep wound on his right thigh.

Then he just screamed, and whatever came next he'd have never known.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks to everybody for the kind reviews, and for give this a try. I know the first chapter had some "visual" impact, and things will carry on like this in the second one (you've been warned, it will come back along the story): but everything will be explained ant taken care of. I do have a thing for suspense, it's about creating the right atmosphere and images to push on the emotional side of the story and hopefully you'll see where this is going.**_

_**Time to move forward, then.**_

_**As for mistakes, I am doing all I can to check and fix things but please, if you see something specific let me know so I can understand what I need to work on. I won't get offended, I will really appreciate it.**_

Light.

No, he couldn't see one. Thank God! Seeing the infamous light would have been too scary. He felt light, a tall and big man like him feeling as light as a feather. If it hadn't been that frightening, it could have almost been a nice sensation: feeling no constrictions, no barriers, none of the physical limits his age and leg confined him to. It wasn't new to him - that feeling - he had proved it before. The first run he had taken after the ketamine treatment, his leg finally pain-free again. He had felt like flying more than running, his body responding so perfectly, powerful, alive…

Nothing of that pleasant sensation was there, the only overwhelming feeling was the frustration of being tied down to the ground. He didn't dare to move, he was afraid to open his eyes and look around. What if there was nothing to look at? What if that light was staring at him, claiming his body like a siren calling Ulysses? No, better to keep his eyes shut, better keep live in the ignorance…if that was still about living anyway.

Because lightness wasn't the only thing he felt. Oh, he wished there was just that! Lightness on its own wasn't bad, it was a nice feeling, almost lulling, but not the cold pervading his body coming along with that. Cold plus lightness, that couldn't be good.

Could he move? He wasn't sure he wanted to try. There should have been a reason if he felt his entire body heavy and sore, a silent warning not to budge. Unless he wanted something bad to happen to him. Something painful.

Lightness and unconsciousness, cold, pain. All of that made him think there was really nothing to feel, but at least those "symptoms"were consistent with the vague memories haunting him. Flashing images of a nightmare, so scaring even bring it back to his mind caused him pain. Pain, he knew the one in his right leg, but what about the rest? What about his stomach, his shoulder, his arms? Why the aching pain all over his face and head, why the grief pounding in his chest instead of just his heart? Why the soreness on his back and legs, the numbness making him feel as if his extremities weren't part of his body anymore?

Yet, to some extents, it was good to feel pain. It meant there was something to feel, still better than feel nothing.

_C'mon, House don't fuss!_ He urged himself with a loud thought. _Man up and do it, open your eyes!_

Easy to say, not really to do. He was terrified by what he could have seen opening his eyes, and when he did try to lift his eyelids a woeful warning taught him better not to push it any further. If he couldn't even do that, open his eyes, without having his whole body quake in pain, how could he even think of making any kind of move?

_Breathe,_ he said to himself. _Take a deep breath. It can't be that bad…_

It was indeed, and he found out when he tried to breathe in. He couldn't inflate his lungs properly, as if his chest had just gotten two sizes smaller, trapping his organs with the disturbing addition of a sharp object sinking in the left one.

At least those painful signs were indications, and he could get something out of that. What did he feel? Pain, the most excruciating one he had ever felt, so much the one he in his leg for years paled in the confrontation. But it wasn't the only thing, and he tried to focus on the other sensation, also to kick out of his mind the images of men tossing and turning him around like a ball in a child's game.

Cold, not freezing. Was he out somewhere, in the cold? Or blood wasn't running in his veins properly? At least, that could explain why he was lying on something slimy and sticky, pasting him to- To what? Where was he again? His apartment? No, he didn't remember getting there. Smells, he could get hold of those, it was actually the only thing he could do that didn't bring pain to him. The air around him smelled like dust, but couldn't cover the aseptic aroma of a hospital. That characteristic mix of ammonia, disinfectant and all the most unpleasant smells having you wish to be anywhere but there. It must have been the hospital, yet it didn't look like he had been hospitalized. Why wasn't he? If he was in so much pain, he should have been laying down in a bed, wearing a fancy gown and fuelled with gallons of painkillers.

_Because they don't know. Nobody found me. Where am I? Why nobody rescued me? What happened to me? Why can't someone just come and make this all better, why can't they make all the pain go away? I'm here, _he struggled, he was sure he was actually speaking but didn't realize words were just in his head._ I'm here, can someone hear me? I'm here…where's everybody?_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Sorry! Forgot to space the different parts, hope like this is better._**

_ Hi everybody, and thank you all for the kind reviews. Fear not for House, things might not look good for him but this is just the start…can't get any worse than this, can it? Hope you'll like the way this chapter has been built: try to get familiar with it, as the title of the story says there will be a lot of "inside" and "out" House's head._

* * *

><p>3.<p>

"Can't you slow down?" Chase whined, catching up with Foreman. "It's not like we might be late…not later than House."

"I'm just walking," the neurologist stated grinning at his friend, who was walking slowly as if his legs were of solid wood. "You better stop doing that, or House will think you're making fun of him."

"He'll be too busy mocking all of us because we got nothing from the tests yesterday," he said, and Foreman agreed with a nod, then Chase sighed and arched his back. "God, you'll end up killing me man!"

"Hei, you asked me to help you work out."

"I said work out, not exhausting me," the doctor retorted as they reached the hospital entrance.

"You wouldn't be this tired if you hadn't spent the last months drinking and having sex every night," Foreman observed with a reproachful voice.

"Then what? House did it for half of his life, he ended up with the woman of his dreams and you never questioned his behave. Ok, ok," Chase muttered then, waving his hands when the neurologist glared at him. "Wrong example, I get it."

"I could give you the bossy lecture and say your lifestyle has been affecting your job," Foreman said picking up his messages, then they both left the acceptation desk. "But I'd rather go with the friend's advice, and honest concern for your recent priorities. That being said…you really need to get in a better shape, even Taub could outrun you."

"I get that, but why does it look like you're training me for the next New York marathon? Oh c'mon!" Chase protested when realized Foreman was heading to the stairs instead of the elevator. "Are you serious?"

"Four floors won't kill you," the neurologist reassured him, pushing the stairwell door open.

Chase muttered something against his friend, hoping that new dynamic could become familiar, or less annoying for him, then huffed resigned and followed his friend up the stairs.

"What do you think about the patient?" He asked absently, but by the way Foreman looked down at him it was clear his casual approach hadn't worked as planned.

"Years around House and you still haven't learned how to be subtle?" The neurologist questioned him mockingly, then shook his head and chuckled. "Can't you just ask me straight, if I think House took this case just because the kid is on a street gang?"

"He's not just in, he's the younger brother of the boss," Chase pointed out, then added. "So, do you think House will harass you about this?"

"With those symptoms and all negative tests? Nah, he has enough bones to chew for now, my past is nothing new. Not to mention," the neurologist added with a grin as they stepped on the fourth floor, "once House will find out Masters pities the young innocent forced into criminality by an unfortunate series of circumstance, we'll never heard the end of it."

Both men chuckled at the thought, they've had a hard time themselves not bursting into laugh when their new naïve colleague had exposed them her theory. They actually couldn't wait for House to find out, they already knew that confrontation would have provided them a nice show. Still half laughing, the two doctors walked down the hallway savoring the last moments of fun before focus back on work, then reached the conference room and switched their coat with the lab ones.

"I'm surprised she's still around," Chase stared pouring himself a cup of coffee. "That girl has some strength."

"He's just infatuated of the novelty," Foreman shrugged, absently reading the folder. "Either she'll get used to his way of working or she won't…and he'll make her life miserable untill she quits."

"I think one the reason she still hadn't, is that most of the time she doesn't get his jokes."

"I have to admit it's funny, the way he treats her I mean," the neurologist chuckled. "Did you see her face yesterday?"

"When she was shocked he didn't care for the patient's criminal record?" Chase asked with a laugh. "God, that was priceless!"

"Weird part is, one way or the other he might end up doing her a favor."

"Yeah, House the philanthropist," Foreman stated mockingly, then tossed the folder on the table and stood up to get himself some coffee.

"Well, in his way.." Chase mumbled sipping his coffee, then Foreman saw him froze and frowned.

"What? You're out of words to express how- Chase, what-"

Mocking in his voice switched to alarm when Chase walked toward, and then past by him. Foreman followed him, infected by his urge, but their mutual rush died as they stepped on the door of House's office. The room was upside down, messed up as if a herd of bison had wandered around like in a prairie. Then Foreman looked at his left, and his mouth went dry as he saw a familiar pair of sneakers poke from behind the desk, lying on the ground among glass splinters and random objects spread all over the carpet. He didn't see any blood, not yet, Chase pushed him apart and they both covered the distance, shivering at the sight of House lying on the ground. Half of his face was dark purple and covered with dry blood, Foreman swallowed down seeing how his jaw was swollen and Chase judged he should have had at least one broken arm according to the unnatural way it was bent.

Then they finally came to their senses, and figured out their shock wasn't an excuse not to do what they've been trained for.

* * *

><p>"I'm surprised she's still around."<p>

_What's that? Chase…yeah that annoying snobbish accent… So this is my office, they're back from the lab, the patient-_

"That girl has some strength."

_Girl? Who? Cuddy? Oh she does…but girl, she not girl, she's…should be Little Wonder…but why are they talking about her?_

"He's just infatuated of the novelty."

_Foreman! Good old bastard…stop showing off you know me like an open book and get here. I bet you have to tell me tests were inconclusive._

"Either she'll get used to his way of working or she won't…and he'll make her life miserable till she quit."

_Who cares about Masters? The boss, come look for the boss you presumptuous shady-_

"I think the reason why she still hadn't, is that most of the time she doesn't get his jokes."

_Of course it is, she knows nothing about sarcasm._

"I have to admit it's funny, the way he treats her I mean," _Ha, you bastard, you didn't like it when it was you!_ "Did you see her face yesterday?"

_Yesterday? What do you mean yesterday? How long have I been here?_

"When she was shocked he didn't care about the patient's criminal record?" _That was yesterday, afternoon…what's going on here? Come look for me you idiots, it's the day after, why didn't they come back yesterday evening- _"God, it was priceless!"

"Weird part is…one way or the other he might end up doing her a favor."

_Damn straight I will! What doesn't kill you-_

"Yeah, House the philanthropist."

_Yeah laugh your ass out of it, you "I don't want to turn into you"… Jesus can't you see there's something wrong? How can you think I don't want to know about the tests?_

"Well, in his way…"

_Like I need you to tell me I look after my team._

"What? You're out of words to express how- Chase, what-"

_Oh thank God! Finally they noticed it! C'mon, get me…get me out of here, come and get me! They're coming, they should find me…c'mon guys say something, tell me what's wrong with me, tell me why I'm such in pain, tell me why I can't move, say something, please say something, you're doctors for God's sake, you're doctors…_

* * *

><p>If Wilson's firm "he's gonna be ok" had somewhat managed to reassure her, or at least keep her preoccupation on reasonable levels, the fact it had taken Marina a lifetime to come to her place had quickly contributed to build a fortress of panic around her. Not sure who that fortress was meant to protect, Cuddy had given the baby sitter a quick and scarce update, the only one she had been able to offer her with, then she had driven to the hospital trying to stop blaming herself.<p>

She couldn't have known. There was no way to see it coming, House would have told her the same. The only thing she could feel guilty about was haven't called him the night before but still, why should have she? They hadn't planned to see each other, and they weren't the phone chit-chatting couple. Not to mention, she knew better not to bug him when he had a new case to sink his teeth. But all her reasoning became unimportant once she arrived at PPTH, everywhere she walked by Cuddy met people looking not at the dean of medicine, but at a patient's visitor. Things didn't get any better once she reached the ICU department, immediately spotting Wilson nervously pacing the hallway. After browsing the possible options, Cuddy soon decided that couldn't be good: if nobody but Wilson was there, it probably meant things were not as good as her friend had told her. But at least bad enough to have House not wanting anybody else around.

"He's sedated."

Of course, that was an option too.

"Why?" Cuddy asked, puzzled that was the first word coming out of her mouth.

"He's…in too much pain," Wilson confessed resting one hand on Cuddy's shoulder, then guided her to sit down.

"How's the situation?" She questioned him with a steady voice, glaring at Wilson when she saw his hesitation.

"Foreman and Chase found him unconscious in his office. He has four broken ribs, they had to intubate him because one perforated one of his lungs. There's a displaced fracture on his left leg and the ankle is broken too, so is his right arm and the wrist is slightly twisted. Left shoulder was out of place and he has three broken fingers on his left hand, he's got a black eye and an almost broken jaw, hematoma and bruises all over- I'm sorry Cuddy," the oncologist urged to add when he saw her lips tremble. "I thought you wanted me to tell the truth."

"What about the pain?" Cuddy asked washing away his concern, her voice betraying no emotions apparently. "Did you really need to sedate him?"

"He woke up," Wilson explained in a low voice, then shook his head and started again. "When they moved him on the stretcher, he came back to his senses…I could hear the scream from my office. I trust Foreman judgment, and if he said House needs to be sedated I guess he has his reasons."

"What else did they say? Foreman and Chase…you said they found him."

"This morning, when they came in a couple of hours ago. He was in his office, that's probably where he was assaulted but we can't tell when exactly. Cuddy," he said squeezing her hand and giving her his best sincere smile. "He's in bad conditions, I'm not gonna lie, but he'll be fine."

"Of course he will," Cuddy answered him with a disarming conviction that left Wilson speechless, then she stood up and looked over at House's room studying the blurred silhouette behind the closed blind. "He always finds a way to come out of everything."

"He's unconscious now," Wilson said in a low voice standing next to her. "But I'm sure he'd like some company."

"Maybe, but you know what else would he like?" She asked with and absent smile, then she stepped back and headed to the elevator. "Nail till death the lame boss who can't even assure employee's safety."


	4. Chapter 4

_I hope it gets easier to follow this story now that you know House is going to be all right, even though it might take a while. Now it's time to move in another direction: after all, we need to know what happened, don't we?_

4.

No matter how engaged she was in the conversation over the phone, Cuddy didn't fail to spot the man talking with Wilson outside her office. She couldn't know for sure, but the man looked like he had been dropped off the "NYPD Blue" cast caravan, and the dean could easily guess he was a police detective.

_About time!_ Cuddy grumbled to herself, then she waved one hand to Wilson to come in with the detective.

Cuddy dismissed the person on the phone with the gentlest voice she could – which, given the circumstances, required a big effort - then she took a deep breath, before Wilson opened the door. She gave her friend a quick questioning look the, reassured about the cop by his nod, she stretched her hand out at him.

"Lisa Cuddy. I'm the dean of medicine," she introduced herself. "Nice to meet you."

"Detective Sawyer," he said back, returning the gesture.

Cuddy held his hand for a while, valuing his solid but gentle grip and she took her time to study the man. He had short dark blond hair and his bushy mustaches didn't really soften his face, the one of a man who have had enough of what life had been throwing at him but was still fighting against it. Cuddy noticed a bulldog shaped pin on the lapels of his coat, and hoped he carried it for a good reason, such as not giving up until he'd gotten his man, then she pulled back her hand and showed him a chair.

"What can you tell me so far?" Sawyer asked straightaway.

"Not much unfortunately," Cuddy had to admit. "I just spoke with the chief of security, he's calling the agents from night shift back here. As soon as they'll be here, you can talk to them. What we know so far is that Dr. House had been attacked in his office, but we have no clues about the timing or anything else."

"I've seen cameras," Sawyer stated while taking notes on his pocketbook. "Any security video?"

"I've already instructed Mr. White to show you everything that had been taped in the last 12 hours. He's at your complete disposal, "she reassured him quickly, but Wilson noticed how her quickly evaporated. "We might not be lucky with those tapes though, this is a hospital and as a matter of privacy we can't have cameras in doctor's private offices."

Sitting next to Sawyer, the oncologist soon lost interest in the detective's frenetic scribbling - wondering if police training included stenography - and addressed his attention to Cuddy. She kept answering Sawyer's questions about security inside and outside the hospital, Cuddy never skipped a beat giving the detective all the information he needed. Although he admired and understood her fierce and solid way to deal with that, Wilson was utterly impressed by Cuddy's behave. Her shocked reaction hadn't last long after her arrival, to a point he wasn't sure she had really been upset. More likely - he thought - once she had accepted House would have been ok, she had decided to focus on find out who had reduced him to a bundle of bruises and broken bones.

"About Dr. House, what's his assignment here?"

"He's the head of department for diagnostic. He takes care of difficult patients," Cuddy explained, the small hint of pride in her voice not missed by Wilson.

"How many people work under him?"

"Four, currently."

"Why currently?" Sawyer questioned her, Wilson didn't like how that sounded and shifted on his seat uncomfortable. "Did something change recently?"

"Dr. House's department had been running for years now, there have been some alternations on his team but nothing out of the ordinary," Cuddy said, then shrugged at Wilson's puzzled look and glanced back at the cop ."Why don't you just ask it straight?" She questioned then, a little harshly. "If there's someone in this hospital who could have done this, any enemies? It's easier than lurk around it, isn't it?"

"Enemies," the detective huffed, staring at Cuddy from upside down as he closed his pocketbook. "It's kind of a hard word for a doctor. But on the other hand, judging by what you told me about the assault, we do have to explore all possibilities."

All of a sudden, Wilson felt trapped in a western movie. Cuddy and Sawyer were staring intensively at each other, and although no words were uttered between them the oncologist could clearly feel the tension. He looked over at Cuddy, who never broke eye contact with the cop, and found her stubbornly determined. Wilson hated to admit it, maybe "enemy" was indeed a strong word but with all the love in the world it was hard to deny House wasn't the most popular guy.

"I don't think Dr. House has no more enemies than you and me detective Sawyer," Cuddy said with a quiet voice, which sounded almost unnerving to Wilson's ears. "On the other hand, I assume you know he was shoot in his office some years ago by a man who had never been caught, which is something I've sadly heard being too much common-"

"I guess," the oncologist stepped in, earning a furious glare by Cuddy, "Dr. Cuddy means whoever attacked House it's obviously someone holding grudges on him. But it doesn't mean-"

"What I'm saying," Cuddy clarified taking back the bundle of the conversation, "is that whoever came in looking for Dr. House, doesn't necessarily work in this hospital."

"Which has its ups and down," Sawyer said unleashing his pocketbook again, and Wilson tried to spy on his notes worried he might spot some bad and doubtful ones about Cuddy. "If it's someone from the hospital, it would have narrowed suspects down at least, making things easier."

A bait, Sawyer's statement was nothing but that. He wasn't convinced by Cuddy's point and he was letting her know. If Wilson had been able to catch his boss's weak argument, sure thing the cop had too. The oncologist looked at Cuddy again, both impressed and scared by her unshakable friendly smile.

"I'm sure it would be, detective." she said then with such an honest regretful voice Wilson almost bought it. "I'm afraid things rarely favor us right away."

Wilson really didn't know what to think. Cuddy's behavior with the detective was driving him nuts, and when she started another staring contest with Sawyer the only reason why he didn't jump on his seat screaming was the phone ringing on her desk. Cuddy excused herself in the most natural way ever, then picked up the phone and after a brief conversation put it back and stood up.

"Night shift guards are here, you can talk with them if you want," she said, and the cop stood immediately, apparently eager to start the questioning part. "And I told Mr. White to come too, he'll show you the tapes."

How she made it, not to make it a rude dismissal, Wilson couldn't tell. Sawyer seemed impatient to start the dirty part of the job, and he followed Cuddy outside her office. The oncologist stood where he was, watching as Cuddy introduced Sawyer to the guards and left him with them. Then, as she walked back to her office, Wilson leaned back on the desk folding his arms and setting his eyebrows on sulky mood.

"Save that look for when I really deserve one," Cuddy said straightaway, closing the door behind her.

"You just lied to the police. Again, by the way," he whined outraged at her.

"Well that's a low one," she sighed absently walking toward him. "And I didn't lie."

"Cuddy, I know you're personally involved in this, but you should deal with this in a rational way."

"A doctor had been used as punching ball in my hospital, Wilson," Cuddy clarified sitting down in front of him. "I'm helping the police, keeping them away from a wrong path that'll have them waste time. I can hardly think of something more rational than this."

"You didn't tell him the truth."

"Thought you were here too, when I told him about the shooter…"

"We both know House isn't really the kind of man everybody likes Cuddy," Wilson said in a low voice, he didn't know if his words hurt her but sure they were a pain for him. "He's more…the cranky son of a bitch everybody loves to hate. And people working in this hospital make no exception."

"You don't need to tell me Wilson. I've been archiving complaints about him for years."

"Then I guess you ruled out that possibility a little bit too quickly," the oncologist insisted standing in front of her, he saw no hesitation in Cuddy's eyes but went on. "Over the years he had pissed off almost everybody here, stomping feet and making wrongs to anybody crossing his way. He cheated," Wilson went on raising his voice when Cuddy stood up and walked behind her desk, "he lied and blackmailed to get things for his patients… Is it really that hard to believe, that someone might have had enough of his crap once for all?"

"I can't accept it," Cuddy said with a low but steady voice, turning around to face him. "If it's true…yes, he's been a pain in the ass to almost everybody here, and yet nobody ever went beyond official reclaim. I can't accept the same doctors I hired and respect, the ones I work with every day, can go from polite dissent to take care of things on their own. Not this way."

"I get it Cuddy but…we should keep that door open."

"And what? Put a security guard in front of his room? And what if the guard is the one who beat him, because he mocked his haircut last week? Control every nurse who goes inside to change his bandages, because maybe he annoyed her once?" Cuddy questioned him. "Or prevent any doctor to give him surgery if he needs one because he might have tricked him in the past? Can't I trust my radiologist, because he keeps saying even a trained monkey could do their job? Maybe I shouldn't even let his team take care of him, since he had been harassing them for years."

"Cuddy-"

"This is not how this hospital is Wilson. Not my hospital," she was getting fiercer and fiercer, anger mixed with pride, and Wilson had to swallow down crashed by her confidence. "He's an asshole, I think I know better than anybody else. But no one I know would have ever done this to him. I refuse," Cuddy almost hissed, right in his face. "I refuse to believe someone here could do something like this, to anybody. And it's not reasonable. He's been attacked at night, in his office. Don't you think if it had been someone from the hospital they would have chosen a different place? Somewhere unrelated to here, not easy to track down, no links-"

"Oh God!" Wilson blurted out after a while, waving his hands up in the air in a frustrated gesture. "You know what, House is digging into your head. That's…that's exactly his way of reasoning."

"Because it makes sense. If someone from the hospital would want to hurt him, I doubt they'd want to get caught. If it sounds like House's way of thinking, then you'll have no problem trusting it," Cuddy cut it short with a quick smile, then turned around and grabbed her cell phone. "I'm gonna talk with Foreman about their patient."

"You want," Wilson asked, frowning furiously, "you want them to keep working on it? Just like that, going back to the conference room?"

"You're right…his office and the conference room are probably off limits," she muttered absently, then rested one hand on his shoulder. "I'll find them another place where to work."

And with that, with a quick and sudden dash that reminded him House's ones in a scaring way, she was gone. Leaving him alone, wondering why and how their relationship seemed to have shaded her more into House's attitude than the other way around as he had wished.

.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello! Thanks for putting up with this weird story and its slow start: I am trying to bring all the different elements that are going to be part of the plot, and show them to you little by little. Do not worry about House: no matter his conditions, he's going to be very much part of the game!_

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><p>5.<p>

She hadn't signed for that.

She had been told work for House could be challenging, on so many levels, and she had touched what a weird and wild world it could be with her own hands. But right when she thought it couldn't get any worse… In her world, doctors didn't get- No, in her universe people didn't get attacked and beaten. Which meant, the idea a doctor could be assaulted and reduced to a bag of bones and wounds, in his office, inside a hospital, was nothing but out of her mind.

Once arrived at the hospital, Masters hadn't even noticed the tumult, not more than usual at least. After all, since from when she had worked there, they've been through a quarantine, false lab tests and multiple firings: how much stranger could things get? Still, while her brain was barely acknowledging Foreman and Chase telling detective Sawyer what they've seen, her attention was drawn to her boss's office. They hadn't been able to use the room yet, which still looked like someone had thrown a bomb inside the room. What the attackers hadn't messed up, was now about to be torn apart by police and forensic.

"Dr. Masters?" Sawyer called her, finally bringing her in the conversation too.

"Yeah, yes sir," she urged to answer, feeling tensed and sweating all of sudden.

"How long have you been working for Dr. House?"

"Ha, um…not long. A couple of months, more or less."

Sawyer took his note and kept asking her harmless questions, although she got a bit distracted when the elevator opened and a police squad came out of it. The detective looked over at his coworkers and waved his hand at them, giving them direction for House's office. As he went on trying to define with Masters how could she work as a doctor without being a real one yet, the young woman answered absently as she observed the men prepare gloves and kit before step inside the office.

"Any idea about what happened here last night?" The cop asked, impressed by the perfect unison of their negation nods. "No clues about someone who would harm Dr. House to this point?"

"He's a doctor. His only fights involve virus and germs," Chase muttered, with a half grin that caused Masters to frown.

"Yeah but," Sawyer said, browsing his pocketbook. "Weren't you the one who gave him a black eye, last year?"

"Oh, well," the Australian doctor fumbled with his words, almost blushing and looking at his coworkers for support. "That's, I…it's true, but he was…I was going through a rough moment, my wife just left me… And I was out with Foreman last night."

"Don't worry Dr. Chase, I'm not implying anything. I'm just trying to set the bars," he said reassuringly, but his words clearly intrigued Foreman, who frowned. "Dr. Cuddy seems pretty sure no one from the hospital staff could have done this, but I still need to know where the truth stands," to their major relief he closed his pocketbook, but then looked over at Chase folding his arms. "He fired you once, right?"

"And I lost track of the times he fired me," Taub blurted helping out Chase, almost amused by the cop statement. "It's like a sport to him, half of the times he doesn't even mean it. It's just…to prove a point."

"Prove a point?"

"I guess," Masters stepped in, she might had been shy and unsure but if it came down to be fired by House as popping candies, she did have something to say about it. "It's his way to get the best out of people. He thinks they work better under pressure."

"And you don't think this attitude might have been too much for someone?"

Detective Sawyer knew the feeling, the one of having nailed the right - or wrong - spot. He could always see it in people's faces, he was trained to do that. However, in that occasion, as he studied carefully House's fellows exchange a maze of gazes, he had a hard time catching cracks.

"No," Foreman finally said, voicing everybody's thoughts. "House is frustrating, but not unnerving to this point," he stated confident, pointing at the men looking for evidence in his boss's office. "Yes, he gets on people's nerves…but they usually give up on being mad at him when they realized he has a point."

"He's not annoying because he's mean," Chase added supporting the neurologist. "He is, because he's always right."

"It's his way to care. He forces people to deal with their issues, instead of deny them," was Taub contribution. "I mean, he has a crappy way to do that, but…no, I can't see anybody here doing something like this. For every wrong he makes someone here, there are least two good things too."

Life never ceased to amaze her.

She was standing there, witnessing the same men she used to see rolling their eyes at House and mutter at him every day, now singing his praise and defending his behave. And she could barely believe it. Yet, truth was she agreed with them. House was an obnoxious pain in the ass, annoying and questioning her beliefs and view of life, yet she could tell she had learned something from him, and about herself. In both cases, most of the time they were things she didn't like, but she couldn't deny they were there and they were truth, whether she liked them or not.

Just partially following the conversation, Masters looked back at House's office. In that room there were more toys than in a kid's room, but the presence of policemen touching his personal stuff made everything serious. She watched them collect samples, pick up bloody broken glasses of the x-ray screen, scratching surfaces with tampons, spreading fingerprints powder all over the place. One of them knelt and picked up the oversized tennis ball with his gloved hand, and stacked it in an evidence plastic bag, then started to do the same with every object he found before throw them in a box.

"Do they," Masters asked then looking over at Sawyer, after she saw one of the agents searching not so gently through House's medical books. "Do they really have to do that? Those are his personal stuff, it's his-"

"Dr. House was working late last night," Sawyer stated then, after a puzzled look addressed to Masters and a dismissive shrug of the other doctors. "Was it unusual for him?"

"No, actually not," Taub answered speaking for everybody. "When we have a difficult case, he likes to keep a closer eye on it."

"Any chance someone could have known in advance he was working late?"

"House hasn't a real schedule, about anything. He just follows the heat of the moment," Foreman explained then shook his head. "It wasn't planned, we didn't even know he was still here."

"So you think whoever did this, was just lucky to find him still in his office?"

"As stupid as it might sound," Chase sighed with a shrug and enlarged his arms. "Maybe they weren't sure. They checked his parking spot and saw his bike was there, they did the math."

Chase words were quite reasonable, and Sawyer could accept the logic. Sometimes things were really just as they seemed, and after all other than Dr. Wilson's shy attempt to explore the internal possibilities, what his questioning had given him so far was nothing but a true and diffuse concern for the victim, no matter what an asshole to his coworkers House could be. Ok, he sure wasn't the one to bet on for best man of the year award, but either they were all good actors and there was a major conspiracy against House, or as Cuddy had told him no matter his abrasive personality he wasn't a jerk big enough to justify what had been done to him.

Which, in his humble but also expert opinion, left one and only option.

"What about your current patient?" He asked then, addressed to Foreman who look like the one somewhat in charge. "What was he working on?"


	6. Chapter 6

_Let's move forward. The basic elements of the story are almost all on the plate now, the details will (should) start to make sense soon. Thank you all again for reading and commenting, hopefully you'll find the development of the story interesting enough._

_This chapter will take us back inside House's head. I loved to write these chapters: they might be a little tough to read, but they are part of the story and they will take you places._

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><p>6.<p>

Voices.

Not that he could hear them for real, it seemed more like a background noise, like an interference. Maybe he was dreaming, or just imagining them. Was he really that fucked up? However, if he was lucid enough to know those voices weren't real, maybe things weren't that bad after all. Maybe his brain was still working properly. Talking about priorities…he was in pain, unconscious, on drugs, he wasn't totally sure of the gravity of his injuries and above all he had no clues about recovery time. Yet, his main concern was having his brain still work properly.

But he couldn't help it, his intellect was his most precious treasure and the fact he might lose it… He did know how it felt like, he had already been there and he didn't want to go back to that dark place. Wait, if he was able to focus on what he had been through with his hallucination and point out the difference, maybe he wasn't that messed up after all.

On the other hand, why could he feel nothing but those undistinguished sounds?

Nothing else, he couldn't open his eyes…damn, he couldn't even feel his eyes! He couldn't get any feedback from his extremities, let alone his right leg. Why? How could that total lack of response being possible? No chance it could mean something less than horrible. Was he dead? Nah, he did not believe in after life so that one was ruled out, so what? Almost dead? Maybe, but that didn't look like any of the extracorporeal experiences he had been through, and he had been through more than how many he could or would want to remember.

Was he…if he could have felt his mouth he would have probably smirked at the floating image of his head, nothing but that and the rest of his body gone, forming ever so quickly as it vanished in his crumbled mind. Was that the reason? There was nothing but his brain left of him? That was why he couldn't get hold of the rest of his body? No, even blurred and detached from his physical components, his mind protested against that silly thought. No way the cells of his brain could register nothing, if his neuron connections didn't have anywhere to go…

_Geez, you're unbelievable!_ A mocking voice warned him from a deep and hidden spot of his brain, a strange and evil laugh echoing somewhere. _You could be dead, and all you can think of is this?_

Well yes, as crazy as it might sound. And if thinking was the only thing he could do, better try to get the best out of it. So he tried to set his lacerate and leaking memory on…on what? What have happened? Had something happened? Something good…well, since he couldn't remember any of it, either it was about a massive fuddle or it was something bad. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember getting drunk or even why he should have had, therefore he had to opt for something bad, really bad.

Then all of sudden something triggered in his mind. Not a real memory or an image, not a sound because even the ones he had been hearing were gone.

What slowly started to dig in his mind, lighting up lights like bulbs aligned next to each other was a familiar and a long-dormant sensation.

Pain.


	7. Chapter 7

_Let's move forward. The basic elements of the story are almost all on the plate now, the details will (should) start to make sense soon. Thank you all again for reading and commenting, hopefully you'll find the development of the story interesting enough._

_This chapter will take us back inside House's head. I loved to write these chapters: they might be a little tough to read, but they are part of the story and they will take you places._

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><p>6.<p>

Voices.

Not that he could hear them for real, it seemed more like a background noise, like an interference. Maybe he was dreaming, or just imagining them. Was he really that fucked up? However, if he was lucid enough to know those voices weren't real, maybe things weren't that bad after all. Maybe his brain was still working properly. Talking about priorities…he was in pain, unconscious, on drugs, he wasn't totally sure of the gravity of his injuries and above all he had no clues about recovery time. Yet, his main concern was having his brain still work properly.

But he couldn't help it, his intellect was his most precious treasure and the fact he might lose it… He did know how it felt like, he had already been there and he didn't want to go back to that dark place. Wait, if he was able to focus on what he had been through with his hallucination and point out the difference, maybe he wasn't that messed up after all.

On the other hand, why could he feel nothing but those undistinguished sounds?

Nothing else, he couldn't open his eyes…damn, he couldn't even feel his eyes! He couldn't get any feedback from his extremities, let alone his right leg. Why? How could that total lack of response being possible? No chance it could mean something less than horrible. Was he dead? Nah, he did not believe in after life so that one was ruled out, so what? Almost dead? Maybe, but that didn't look like any of the extracorporeal experiences he had been through, and he had been through more than how many he could or would want to remember.

Was he…if he could have felt his mouth he would have probably smirked at the floating image of his head, nothing but that and the rest of his body gone, forming ever so quickly as it vanished in his crumbled mind. Was that the reason? There was nothing but his brain left of him? That was why he couldn't get hold of the rest of his body? No, even blurred and detached from his physical components, his mind protested against that silly thought. No way the cells of his brain could register nothing, if his neuron connections didn't have anywhere to go…

_Geez, you're unbelievable!_ A mocking voice warned him from a deep and hidden spot of his brain, a strange and evil laugh echoing somewhere. _You could be dead, and all you can think of is this?_

Well yes, as crazy as it might sound. And if thinking was the only thing he could do, better try to get the best out of it. So he tried to set his lacerate and leaking memory on…on what? What have happened? Had something happened? Something good…well, since he couldn't remember any of it, either it was about a massive fuddle or it was something bad. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember getting drunk or even why he should have had, therefore he had to opt for something bad, really bad.

Then all of sudden something triggered in his mind. Not a real memory or an image, not a sound because even the ones he had been hearing were gone.

What slowly started to dig in his mind, lighting up lights like bulbs aligned next to each other was a familiar and a long-dormant sensation.

Pain.


	8. Chapter 8

_This is going to be…difficult, maybe hard to read. There is a lot of pain and raw emotions going on here, and I think you might find the writing a little bit unconventional. That being said, reading your comments looks like House's suffering and pain – and the way it's put on the paper – is the thing keeping you hooked, so…_

_Everything will be explained and tied up in the end: if it would be done properly, you will tell me in the end._

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><p>8.<p>

That was not him.

He'd been a cripple for almost half of his life, experimenting various shapes, levels and kind of pain. He had experienced the unpleasant sensation of not being in control of his own body, the scary feeling of having no hold on his mind and being unable to trust his own judgment...but he had never been through anything like that.

Nothing like that odd feeling of being a fish inside an aquarium. A dumb fish, inside a sound and bulletproof aquarium, tied down to the sand ground. He could see, but although his ears were free, sounds came muffled to him. Did Wilson mention something about that? Well, he hadn't mentioned anything specific to be honest. Maybe there was something wrong indeed. Either that, or he really had no explanations as of why he couldn't give a proper meaning to the scene going on before his eyes.

Everything was blurred, his sight partly blocked by the tube itching inside his throat, and he couldn't even get rid of that disturbing shadow he felt wrapping his pupils. Ok, maybe he could have actually moved his arms, the heavier weight of his right one told him that one was broken and more likely in a cast, but given the confused signals his body sent he didn't dare to take the chance. The blurred view didn't help him focus on the people working around him, standing all around his bed talking to each other, pointing down at him as if he were a carcass, debating on him like a bunch of wild and hungry animals. Acting as if he wasn't even there.

But he was, wasn't he? Wilson had talked to him, he had seen a nurse wander around him and he has had to close his eyes to avoid her pitying look. If he could have, he would have probably grinned. Even with his body messed up by pain and mind fucked up by morphine, he could tell Wilson wasn't happy with his decision of testifying, not at all. He could see the oncologist waving his arms and shaking his head, while the unknown man with the long coat kept his coolness. Finally, Wilson seemed to become aware of his presence, he looked down at him and shook his head again, before maneuvering with the drug dispenser. It was like turning on a switch; House followed Wilson's movements with his eyes and saw him bustle with the morphine dosage. It didn't take long for the fog to vanish, numbness left his body and when the oncologist leaned down on him to speak he could even kind of hear him. It took him a while to get his hearing back completely, but in the meantime he was sure Wilson told him something about Cuddy being stuck iin a meeting about safety. When House realized his friend was suggesting him to wait for her to be there, and try to get some sense in him, he did his best to shake his head no. Being questioned by the police in his condition might have been a bad one, but he wanted it to be his call. Being awake, even in that half state of perception, was painful. He knew morphine couldn't be the eternal solution and he wanted it to be the shortest it could. He wanted it to be, first of all: if there was something useful in his mind he needed to find it and spill it out.

The unknown man approached the bed appearing in his sight, House couldn't get hold of his name, but still got the message he was a cop. He tried to give him a feedback, but by the way he looked over at Wilson it was clear his message hadn't been received. Then Wilson told him, with a nauseating worried voice, he should have blink to answer, one for yes and two for no. In that moment a wave of pain ran through his body, the shot of distressing adrenaline causing him to wonder how many times he should have blinked to say fuck you. Then urged to give Wilson a single and clear blink, when he asked him if he needed him to give his painkillers a little push. House closed his eyes as the lulling wave of drug washed calmly inside him, he wished he hadn't a tube down his throat just to get a deep breath on his own, but couldn't. Which would have been frustrating enough, even without the disturbing realization he couldn't fully understand the cop's words.

He was almost sure he was asking him if his name was Gregory House, he blinked once and he did it again when the man asked him if he was a doctor and worked at PPTH. Those were easy questions, as easy as something asked of a man in his conditions could be. House knew they were about his level of response and lucidity, still he tried his best to focus and answer properly.

Did he know of someone who would have wanted to harm him? Oh, a long list! But not until that point. Two blinks.

No ideas? Two blinks.

Stay late at the hospital had been his idea? One blink.

Did he do it because of his current patient? One blink- no, wait, he didn't. He just wanted to waste some time before leaving, that would made two blinks. But then, did it matter to the police? It wasn't technically a lie, but it didn't make any real difference after all. The cop repeated his question again, therefore House knew he had to do better than that and opted for a harmless watered version of truth, and blinked once. As the questioning went, it became clear the reasons of his staying weren't the only confused information he gave. The cop offered him a wide gamut of timing, trying to determine when the assault had happened, but he couldn't give him an answer. He did remember checking his watch, but the time on it was swallowed by morphine's effects.

Since the same thing happened again, Wilson stepped in. House "felt" him argue with the detective and state he wasn't in the condition to answer any more, because of the drugs. But instead of stepping back, the cop kept defending his point, promising it wouldn't have taken him long.

Did he know his aggressors? Two blinks.

Had he reasons to believe what happened was related to his patient? One, confused, blink.

How many people? One? Two blinks- What was that? That pinching pain in his chest? How could he feel pain with all the drug swimming in his veins?

Two people? One blink…but God, did they look so much more than two! Then, what was up with his breath? Those short and quick huffs of air trapped in his lungs?

Did they look like members of a gang or something? One blink, one damn sure blink, and then that aching pain again. Not the chest but his heart, combined with those tired breathless moans suffocated in the plastic of the tube.

That couldn't be right, it couldn't be good. Chest pain, trouble breathing, his head spinning and the sudden sweat covering his face. Morphine, too much could affect his heart—

What did he mean which gang? How the fuck was he supposed to answer that by blinking, for God's sake? Out of breath, he had a machine doing that for him and he was out of breath, and that tube proved to be even more useless when House realized it was preventing him from tell Wilson he was about to have an heart attack.

Did he think they belonged to the same gang of his patient? Time, take your time, remember how they were dressed, it was a peculiar outfit right? He had indeed noticed it, but why was it all so blurred and confused? Wilson, he looked over at Wilson begging with his eyes. His eyelids were going crazy, trembling out of control and blinking like car wipers in the storm of the century. Why was nothing on the monitor? Oh, yes! One fucking blink, their "uniform" was exactly the one Cortez was wearing when he had been admitted, what the-

Did they say something? Who cared if they had!

God finally! He'd never thought he'd welcomed the alarm sound coming from the machines as a good thing, but he had to when they finally spiked up. Wilson pushed the cop aside with a quite remarkable force, but the man kept talking from behind the oncologist, repeating the same question about if and what they told him. When the heart attack finally took over and he started to drift away slowly, for a moment House thought it didn't really matter, that it couldn't have been that important after all. But then he realized he had to matter, it would have given that painful ordeal a meaning.

Pushed by his own pride and the fear of failure, House gathered his all energy. And had just the time to blink once, before Wilson ripped his hospital gown open and grabbed the paddles.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you all for the reviews, I appreciate the fact you seem to be getting into the story no matter the unusual pace. We are moving a forward now: those of you who thought Wilson would have been in trouble for taking this gamble on House, will see how thing works out for him here._

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><p>9<p>

The elevators door opened on the ground floor, and Wilson moved one foot out of the cabin. But then he spotted Cuddy, engaged in a conversation with the nurse attending House, and urged to go back inside. The oncologist furiously pushed the buttons with his open palm, fighting the desire to drag inside the old man ambulating slowly toward him, before Cuddy could see him. He didn't want that. Right before the doors closed, he saw how animated the nurse seemed to be, waving her hands and gesticulating, and although the oncologist knew he could only postpone his punishment, he wasn't ready to face Cuddy's fury.

Not just yet, not before he have had time to process what had just happened. Not before he could really come to terms with the fact he had just dragged his best friend back from death by frying his chest hair. To be entirely honest, more than anything he should try to figure out, soon, if he hadn't been also the one leading him to almost lose his life. Oh, House would have died to…ok, bad choice of words. House would have loved to mick him for that, for his irresistible need to blame himself for something. It had been House's call to do it, he knew very well what consequences there could have been and yet he had wanted to do that anyway. Therefore, technically it wasn't his fault. He had done nothing but follow his friend's will.

And now he was a dead man.

That was exactly how he felt, a dead man walking, as he went to hide in his office. As he closed the door behind him, Wilson loosened the knot of his tie and rolled up his sleeves, his mind trying to build some kind of defense for when Cuddy would storm in claiming for his head. The oncologist valued his options. He could have tried to pass it all on House and his stubborn martyr syndrome, but he knew that wouldn't have worked. First of all, he simply couldn't push himself to be such a bastard, and more likely Cuddy would have turned the table on him in the blink of an eye, saying House clearly wasn't in the position to make any rational call.

However kind of expected, the knock on the door still caught him off of guard. The oncologist gasped realizing he had no escape, and for a moment naïvely thought if he had kept it quiet maybe she would have just gone away. As silent as he could be, Wilson approached the door trying to slide on the carpet, holding his breath when the knock repeated and huffing out when she spoke.

"Wilson don't be stupid," Cuddy's voice said, and something told him she was making fun of him. "You didn't even lock the door."

With a long sigh, the oncologist resigned and opened the door. Then he urged to close it again, if he had to be eaten alive he wanted to spare the show to everybody else, and as soon as he turned around he looked for something to say.

"I'm sorry Cuddy. I told him not to do that. I knew it was a bad idea, I shouldn't have taken him out of sedation, I," he started to pace the room, unable to look at her as his babbling went on. "Listen, I know this is not an excuse. I should have taken care of him, stopped him instead of enabling him like I always do-"

"And I didn't expect you to do anything less," Cuddy said, finally managing to interrupt him, grabbing his shoulder to stop his frantic movements too. "As his friend, and as his doctor."

"He could have died Cuddy," Wilson blurted out with a weak voice. "If you had been there and would have seen it you'd agree…I could have lost my patient, and my friend, and it would have been my fault."

"Wilson," she said again, desperately trying to calm him down. "Why don't we get a coffee, or something?"

"A coffee!" The oncologist babbled, frowning furiously. "You want…I almost killed your boyfriend and you want to buy me coffee?"

"Well maybe something less exciting would be better," Cuddy told him as she pushed him gently toward the door.

Not sure follow her was the wisest thing to do, Wilson still did it. Maybe the fact his head was still attached to his body, gave him enough confidence to give her some credit. So he followed her, they didn't say a word during the trip down to the cafeteria, and Wilson tried for the entire time to determine if Cuddy's silence was a good or bad sign. Not knowing what Cuddy had in store for him wasn't a good reason not to be polite, so he paid for their coffees and followed her to a table.

"He took a risk," Cuddy said then, looking around instead than at him. "That's what he always does, without thinking about the consequences, pushing to the limits."

"And he almost died," Wilson pointed out, still not sure what to make of Cuddy's behavior.

"I know Wilson, I know," she whispered in a low voice, absently lulling the cup of coffee in her hands. "But you were there for him. I wouldn't have wanted anybody else with him. Carol told me what you did, how you reacted quickly when he- Good think you were there, Wilson," she said again, a dark shadow on her face as she added bitterly. "I don't think…in your place I don't think I would have been able …to do anything-"

"You're a doctor, Cuddy. You would have reacted on instinct, just like I did," he said shaking his head, wondering when roles had switched and he had become the one comforting her over his own mistakes.

"I'm not sure about this, but thanks," Cuddy said, giving his hand a friendly squeeze. "And thanks for trying to get some sense in that brick wall of his head, even if you knew it would have been useless."

"You know," the oncologist huffed leaning back on the chair, suddenly relieved. "It's good to see him fight, no matter what."

"Was it at least useful?"

She looked down at her coffee to prevent him from catch her real expression and Wilson realized she hadn't even touched it.

"I'm not the one you should ask Cuddy," the oncologist admitted. "But I do know to put him through that again is a bad idea. He can't stand too much morphine, and if he's awake he needs it."

"We can't decide this for him Wilson, and you know it," Cuddy stated. It was a confident statement, but he could hear the pain in her voice. Then whatever moment of weakness she might have been showing, was tossed away when she straightened up on the chair and checked her watch. "I need to talk to detective Sawyer. He spoke with House's team and he wanted to question him, he's following a track. Maybe the interrogation wasn't a complete waste of time," she stood up and took the paper cup, but instead of picking it up she seemed to linger with her fingers on it. "And I have to be sure Foreman and the others are taking care of the patient. And I should call Marina, I left in a hurry this morning and I need to check on Rachel."

"All things you can do from here, with your phone," Wilson suggested in his special caring yet imposing voice, his hand gently touching hers as Cuddy looked down, a little bit unease for that genuine display of affection. "Cuddy you haven't stopped since you got here, you're worried for House and for your employee's safety. Now it's the police's turn to take it from here. If you take your time to have a coffee and eat something the world won't stop. So now," the oncologist stood up and held her shoulders, gently but firmly pushing her to sit down again. "Unless you want me to give you a lecture on your sick need to control everything, you sit down here and I'll get you something to eat. Ha!" He babbled raising his open palm at her when she opened her mouth, trying some kind of protest. Then he took her untouched coffee and gave her a warning nod. "And a grey tea, of course."

It was hard to fight that, James Wilson in full caring mood could be unstoppable and most of the time genuinely irresistible. Sitting alone in the cafeteria, at the same time aware and careless of how the hospital staff was looking at her - where her meant Dr House's girlfriend more than anything else - Cuddy sighed absently and took her cell phone to call home and check on Rachel with Marina. She had left home in a rush for obvious reasons. Marina wanted to be updated, and Cuddy knew reassuring the nanny would be a good way to keep Rachel's questioning at bay at the same time. Her daughter and House weren't bonding easily, but they did have a reciprocal weird curiosity. House tried to hide it most of the times, and Rachel for obvious reasons couldn't. Most of the time it was funny and unnerving for everybody, and mostly because House's way to deal with her child was to treat her like an adult. Being a grown up child himself, House refused the idea to treat kids like idiots. To him, they were just young human beings, and they should be treated like that. And God help her, being usually surrounded by adults talking gibberish to her, Rachel seemed to appreciate that tall goofy man who didn't try to get smiles or hugs out of her like candies from a vending machine.

"Dr. Cuddy?"

Sawyer's voice dragged her out of her own thoughts. Feeling almost caught off guard, Cuddy blinked a couple of times and looked up at the cop, then quickly dismissed Marina on the phone. At the same time, on the other side of the room Wilson was debating between mushrooms or asparagus salad, then he looked over at Cuddy and spotted her talking with the detective. Something he saw on his friend's face didn't seem right to him, Cuddy was way too much focused on what the detective was saying and he didn't like the man's serious face. Forgetful of Cuddy's tastes, he grabbed one item randomly and urged to order tea, then tried to pay and get it all done the soonest he could. But it was too late already, once he made it back to the table Sawyer was already gone.

And judging by the serious and bossy voice she told him they had to talk, he had left a heavy baggage for them to share.


	10. Chapter 10

_Time to move away from House a bit. Well, hard to move away from him since everything is always about him! But let's not forget: he's not the only patient of this story._

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><p>10<p>

"How can a 20 years old kid have chronic fatigue?" Chase blurted tossing the folder on the small table. "He's not into sports or any kind of intense physical activity, he doesn't go to the gym," he sighed and leaned back on the couch straddling his face with both hands. "There's no explanations in his daily life for this."

"Not the one we know of," Taub pointed out pouring himself a couple of coffee, then shrugged. "Now the question is, what's a gang leader's younger brother daily routine made of? That's all we need to know."

The plastic surgeon looked absently in Foreman's direction, the sarcastic tone of his voice causing the neurologist to shoot him a glare. It made sense, apparently since House wasn't there his coworkers felt obliged to carry on with the "let's mock the black guy for his dirty past" act no matter what. He was not in the mood, not even in different circumstances. He might have been the buzz kill everybody thought, but between a very sick patient - for whom they still had no clues - and their boss's aggression, Foreman really thought making fun of his youth mistakes should have been the last thing on their list.

"We could try to ask him. But we can't really expect him to be honest," Foreman said then, sitting on the billiard table. "If he's involved in the gang activities, it will be hard to get something out of him."

"What about searching his place?" Taub suggested then. "We haven't ruled out heavy metal poison yet."

"More likely we'd need a police convoy to search the place."

"Police stay away from that neighborhood, unless it's necessary," Foreman mumbled, answering Chase's remark.

"Then we're good," Taub muttered almost enthusiastically, then waved one hand to the door, his voice still charged with sarcasm. "Police are here already, and they're working on the same case," Foreman, Chase and Masters looked at him, both puzzled and intrigued thinking he might have had a point. "We can tell the cops searching Cortez's place could be useful for their investigation too. Maybe we can have a couple of agents-"

Maybe it was the police being involved, or the simple fact that was House's team, but the latest turn in the conversation seemed to put Dr. Rollins unease enough. He had gone to the doctor's lounge hoping to find a quiet place, watch some TV or maybe even take a nap, but instead he had found House's team holding the place hostage.

Not only ahd they sacked the coffee supply and occupied the couch. They'd also moved the whiteboard there, and judging by the way they made themselves comfortable they planned to stay there for a long time. Even if the conference room wasn't strictly involved in the investigation, they couldn't obviously use it as the usual base for their DDX. Work on a differential required high level of concentration, which was hard to keep with massive distraction such as a squad of cops invading their boss's office. Therefore, when Cuddy had suggested them to move to another place they'd jumped on the possibility. Of course once they'd settled in, Masters had felt suddenly uneasy occupying a public space. Not that they were forcing people out, everybody was welcome and surely nobody needed their permission, still whoever came in didn't last long.

The next and last victim was Dr. Rollins. At first the pediatrician had tried to ignore their conversation, but eventually decided he had had enough of it, so he grabbed his sandwich and his lab coat and left the room. His departure didn't seem to affect the team, as much as his presence hadn't bothered them at all, and they went on for some minutes valuing the option of disrupting police's involvement to get hold of some more information about the patient. Standing silent in the corner of the room, Masters kept watching her coworkers switching from discussing medicine to pondering criminal issues with a disarming facility.

"How can you do this?" She blurted out finally, calling the three men's eyes on her at the same time.

"Police already think the aggression has something to do with our patient," Taub babbled, not sure that might be the problem but still willing to give it a shot. "If they can give us Cortez's address-"

"How can you keep working on the differential?" Masters questioned again, her voice spiking up as she stepped forward spreading her arms. "House is lying in a bed, the police are messing with his stuff and want to question him again…how can you just go on as if nothing happened?"

"Told ya," Chase muttered in a long sigh, looking over at Foreman, who rolled his eyes at him then gave Masters a condescending look.

"House doesn't need medical attention, not ours," he stated, hopping down from the pool table. "He doesn't need to be diagnosed, his life is not in danger. On the other hand, our patient's might if we don't figure out what he has. So far symptoms aren't that bad but it's a deadly combination, and we can't take the risk to wait for something to change."

"I don't get this," the young woman protested again, causing Taub and Chase to exchange a quick amused and resigned look. "You were all there, defending him and the way he treats you with the detective. Why can't you show a bit of concern-"

"Being worried for House is useless most of the time, and there's nothing we can do for him right now. Trust me," Foreman told her with a knowing voice, his words reinforced by Taub and Chase's firm nods. "The best thing we can do for him is our job."

"But-"

"Investigating his aggression is not our job. Curing Cortez is," Taub added.

House might have been hospitalized and his conditions were far from being reassuring, but his life wasn't at risk. Well, unless they'd screwed with the morphine again. Cuddy and Wilson were already taking care of him, besides: they knew better. Taking care of House was something that required skills they didn't have. On the other hand, they were doctors, good doctors, and they had all the right equipment to take care of Jaime Cortez.

House might have been a case himself. But not one it was up to them to solve.

"And we're gonna let this go, just like this?"

"There's nothing to "let go"," Chase explained, he stood up and sunk his hands in the pockets of his jeans, shrugging. "Believe it or not, he'd like better to know we're working on our case than wasting our time worrying about him."

"And we'd better get this one done, soon," Foreman agreed as he opened the patient's folder again, then added mumbling. "I can hear him already, bragging about how useless we are without him."

"Don't worry, more likely he'd been asking about the patient himself if he could."

Taub's almost sweet reassurance didn't leave Masters quite convince. But then the three men went back discussing possible causes of Cortez's symptoms, and the woman realized she had two options. Keep trying to tickle their guilt muscles, smashing repeatedly on a wall of indifference, or sail with the flow. If anything, try to do her job would have given her the chance not to be mocked for everything she said.

"Joint pain, chronic fatigue," she pitched in absently, browsing the folder and shaking her head, trying her best to give it a shot. "Could be lupus."

At her words, everybody's eyes landed on her. Feeling embarrassed and almost about to blush, or scream at them to stop, Masters took a deep breath with her head still down on the folder. She looked up eventually, not sure what those gazes were supposed to say. The men seemed shocked but also amused, a small grin forming on Foreman and Chase's lips. Then Taub broke the odd silence, with a fake "proud daddy's" voice.

"Oh, that's heartbreaking," he said mockingly, gesturing to bring his hands to his heart. "Her first lupus suggestion, and House just missed it."

As she had quickly learned to do, Masters kept her mouth closed, swallowing behind sealed lips another bitter lump of pride, and thinking she should eally learn how to detect sarcasm if she wanted to survive in that job. She couldn't know "it's never lupus" was one of House's most valuable mottos, but if there was one thing she had soon picked up was how to stomach failures.

So she just put Taub comment's in the already a crowded drawer of learned lessons, shrugged and traced a line on the word lupus erasing it from her very personal list. They went on with the differential, until two things came out. Heavy metal poison was by then the best option, and in order to elaborate it they would have needed to question the patient. With some luck, they would have gotten some honest and useful answers, and they knew detective Sawyer wanted to question House again. That alone wouldn't have been a big deal, and none of their business actually, but there was more to it. During the previous colloquium, Sawyer had been looking for something to confirm his theory, but apparently House's answers had led him in another direction. As a good cop he needed to dig deeper, unfortunately in that case it meant he needed House's mind to be cleared and free from morphine numbing his memory.

"But," Masters babbled, their case tossed aside in a corner of her mind once again. "He can't stay awake without drugs, he's in pain."

"I guess he knows that," Chase muttered knowingly. If it came to pain, House was the one to ask. "But apparently he doesn't care."

"You mean he agreed!" Masters asked, her voice spiking up again, simply shocked her boss might have been so inconsiderate to risk his life. But apparently she wasn't aware of House's methods, or she would have never asked what followed. "And Cuddy let him do it?"

"Why shouldn't she? It's not her call."

"Are you serious? She is-"

"His girlfriend?" Taub with a small shrug. "His boss? How can any of these prevent him from doing what he wants?"

When she opened her mouth, Masters knew she wanted to say. Seriously, her mind was full of words and good reasons why House shouldn't have done it, or explanations for Cuddy to stop him. But once her mouth was open, air to breathe sucked everything away.

Taub was right.

Cuddy might have been the one capable of altering House's actions. But that didn't mean she always wanted to.


	11. Chapter 11

_Hello! Ready for a change of pace? As I said before – or at least I think I did – the title of this story comes from the fact we will be go back and forth inside and outside out House's mind. Time to have another peak in his head: he's been through a lot already, and this is effecting him deeply. Hope you'll like it, I know it can be difficult to read._

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><p>11<p>

_Are you out of your mind?_

_**God I hope not! It's the only thing I have left.**_

_Then why did you agree to do that?_

_**What the fuck are you talking about? Why not?**_

_Because you're gonna be in pain, you stupid asshole._

_**I already am, genius.**_

_This is nothing, nothing compared to what you'll feel, and you know that. You're a doctor, and other than this you're an expert when it comes to pain. Do you really need me to remind you?_

_**I can handle this.**_

_You think you can._

_**I can. I've been dealing with pain for years.**_

_Yes, with Vicodin congesting your veins-_

_**I'll bear it. Now shut the fuck up.**_

_What are you exactly trying to prove here? That you're a thoug guy? About that, did you really think you could make it, two against one?_

_**I had to try something.**_

_Oh you did. You put up a nice fight, too bad you couldn't stand a chance. That was pathetic._

_**There's nothing pathetic in giving it a chance.**_

_Where the hell does that come from? Thought you gave up on therapy! Geez, they really banged your head bad, uh?_

_**I said shut up. Get the hell out of my head!**_

_Are you trying to impress her? The woman who hasn't even come to see you once?_

_**I don't want her to, I'm not ready…she knows it. She knows me.**_

_Yeah, keep dreaming._

_**I don't want her to see me like this. I can barely stand Wilson-**_

_He's your friend, he's worried about you._

_**He's always worried about me. About everybody actually.**_

_This time he had all the reason to be, don't you think?_

_**No, no I don't. I know what I'm doing, it's my call.**_

_A stupid one._

_**Nobody asked your opinion.**_

_Oh really? I'm your subconscious, in case you forgot._

_**Yeah about that…how come, for once when I don't have to deal with a whining Wilson fussing about my decisions, I have to be annoyed by you?**_

_Because you need someone to keep you in line. You always do._

_**I have to do this, they need it-**_

_They don't. You just want to convince yourself they do, you don't want to feel powerless… What? No answer about this?_

_**They need my testimony to understand what happened…where the hell are you when I watch Law and Order? They're hanging in the dark, they need me to give them a head start. They have to know who did this to me.**_

_You don't know who did it._

_**I know they're related to my patient. They had the same clothes and…it's important.**_

_For who?_

_**For the police. I don't want them to follow the wrong trail and waste time. And for me, ok? It's important, to me.**_

_Why?_

_**Because it doesn't make sense, ok? My patient is their boss's brother, and they came after me. They scared the shit out of me, and it doesn't make any sense.**_

_So this is what it's always about with you? Meaning? Logic?_

_**Damn straight it is! They almost killed me, for all I know I might end up even more crippled. There must an explanation for this.**_

_Or you just want it be, explainable? So you can give it a name, a reason, a fitting label?_

_**What's wrong with that? It happened once already, someone tried to kill me and I've never found out why.**_

_You do realize, the majority of people wouldn't want to know?_

_**Have we met? I'm not like the majority of people. I want to know…I need to understand, so maybe next time I can prevent this from happening to me again.**_

_How? By being…kind?_

_**Less of an asshole, should be enough.**_

_Why? Can't you see the paradox? Being a jerk explains why people would want to hurt you. What if you stop being a jerk and, it still happens?_

_**This is not the point. Don't try to mess with me.**_

_I'm your subconscious. This is just you, messing with yourself._

_**Can we go back to complaining about my decision to testify drug free?**_

_Will you change your mind?_

_**No.**_

_Then I'd rather mock you, if you don't mind._

_**I do mind…you know what? I don't, really. I already decided, I won't change my mind about this and whatever the consequences, I'm ready to face them.**_

_How selfish of you._

_**Selfish? Because I want those who almost killed me to go to jail?**_

_Selfish because you think it's just your call._

_**It is.**_

_But you won't be the only one paying the consequences. What about Wilson?_

_**What does this have to do with Wilson?! And he'd feel responsible anyway, he's such a guilty vampire.**_

_Do you think it was fun for him, having to shock you heart back to life? How do you think he'll feel, if something goes wrong again?_

_**This isn't about Wilson.**_

_Ok, so this isn't about your best friend, the one how had been your rock over the years and keeps coming back to you every time you need him. Then what about Cuddy? Oh yeah, your girlfriend. How do you think she feels?_

_**She gets me. She understands…she always does.**_

_With your life on the line? I don't remember her being that happy when you chose DBS-_

_**That was different! We are different now.**_

_You know, Wilson had probably ran to her complaining about your decision. More likely he's convincing her to stop you._

_**Good luck to him, convince her to convince me? He knows better.**_

_You don't think he would try?_

_**Of course he would, he's Wilson! But make it, not so much.**_

_So you think._

_**Yes, I think so. She sees what Wilson fails to see.**_

_That you're crazy?_

_**That there are things I need to do, no matter the outcomes.**_

_Then you're both crazy._

_**Maybe….maybe, but that's why we work.**_

_Madness isn't something you can build a relationship on._

_**It's not about madness. It's about understanding.**_

_Wow, they should give you more of this morphine. It really makes you look like a funny guy!_

_**You're right, because it also makes me see your true colors. You're a pain in the ass!**_

_I'm you, after all._

_**Then you should agree with me.**_

_You're not even sure you want to do this._

_**I am, I'm scared of it but I am sure.**_

_Fear should teach you something._

_**Yes, it does. That sometimes it's a good feeling, that whatever scares you might be worth a try, that you can't always stepping back. I'm tired to step back…I'm tired…**_


	12. Chapter 12

_I have a special thanks for the reader who spent what I think being a lot of time, going through the latest chapters and fixing some mistakes and typos I left. (I'd love to say the name but I am not sure this person would want me to, and I can't reply to the messages in private). I was glad to see the previous chapter did well: I love that style and it's going to come back._

_As for now, here's a new part!_

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><p>12<p>

There had been a time, the dean of medicine's office was a dangerous place. A very specific day, when a desperate sick man had pulled out a gun, menacing people to get a diagnosis. It had been a rough day for PPTH, but since then Cuddy's office had been nothing but the boss's room, the watchful promontory from which she ruled the ship. Until the day Dr. House had been almost killed. Until the moment detective Sawyer had told her and Wilson he needed House to be out of drugs, to get a valuable interrogatory. Until Cuddy and the oncologist had found out to have more than just divergent opinions on whether let the cop have his way with House or not.

Nurses passing by the door, closed along with the blinds, could hear both doctor's voices spiking up alternatively. They didn't envy them, neither of them. As doctors and nurses, they were all accustomed to similar situations. Still, they were glad it wasn't up to them to make such a call. And knowing nobody would have asked them, made it extremely easier to stay as far as they could from the epicenter of the decision.

Inside the office, forced to follow the discussion from the closest point of view ever, Sawyer sat on the couch watching the two doctors arguing. He could see where they came from, both of them. But both arguments were getting old and repetitive, while what he needed was the final green light to go ahead. He needed to question House again, the doctor gave him confused answers, and he needed confirmation before reducing his theory into a fallen card's castle.

According to House's testify, his attackers looked like members of Black Calaveras. It didn't make sense to him, not since he believed MP were responsible for the assault. In addition, apparently they've said something to Dr. House and he needed to know what it was. But he couldn't just question House again, his answers were confused because of the drugs he was on. Knowing there was something useful inside the doctor's mind, he had to make sure those information came out clear and lucid enough to be reliable for a judge. It was a crappy situation all right, he could see why so much struggling in letting him go further. But he could hardly see the problem, since Dr. House had already given his approval.

Which seemed to be the point both Wilson and Cuddy kept forgetting.

"I can't believe it Cuddy, seriously!" Wilson blurted out loud, resting his hand on his hips and glaring at her disappointed. "You're a doctor for God's sake! You don't need me to tell you much pain House will feel if we take him off of morphine."

"No I don't. And for the record, he's a doctor too. He knows what he's doing-"

"He was the first time, and he almost died…damn it! He's always sure, every time he does something crazy jeopardizing his health," the oncologist stated drily, standing in the middle of the room. "Cuddy, he's not in himself. He needs to rest, and we have to find a balance between his pain and the risk of overdue with medication."

"Here's where you're wrong Wilson. It's not we, it's not up to us," Cuddy explained flatly, her hissing voice telling Sawyer she was sick of repeating that as much as he was of hearing it. "You're right. He did what he wanted, and he almost died. But no matter this, he wants to try again. Does this tell you something about it?"

"Yes. That your boyfriend is insane, and you don't give a damn about it!"

Sawyer had already seen enough of the two doctor's interaction to know the man's words came mainly out of frustration. But what he didn't expect to see, was the dark shadow passing on the woman's face. He frowned, apparently the oncologist's statement had touched a weak spot, and the cop found himself leaning forward and hoping what he had just seen was not a second thought on what was so far his best ally. But then Cuddy looked in his direction, grounding him to his seat with a confident glare which showed no signs of hesitation.

"What do you need exactly?" She asked, causing Wilson's jaw to drop on the floor.

"Cuddy," he tried to step in, but Sawyer wasn't willing to let his chance go and stood up quickly.

"I'll keep it as short as I can, but there are things I need him to clarify. If his attackers are from Black Calaveras, that bring a new element in the investigation. I need more details."

"You're thinking about ask him for an identikit?"

"Damn it Cuddy! Can you please listen to me?"

"If," Sawyer urged to answer, feeling bad for Wilson who was clearly losing the battle. "If he saw the faces and can give us a description-"

"How can he give you a description with a tube down his throat?" The oncologist muttered nastily, folding his arms. "Blink two for short and three for long hair?"

Sawyer gave Wilson a quick look but soon ignored him, while Cuddy gave him an angry glare.

"We can wait for the description. But Dr. House hinted they said something to him- Dr Wilson," the detective said with an abrupt change, addressing straight to him. "I know he's your friend, and you're worried for him. I was there with you, it scared the hell out of me, and I don't even know him… But you were there too, and you know he has something to say. I hate to admit it, but without his information I can't build up a case. I can't even legally open the investigation, unless I get something solid out of him-"

"He's tied down to a hospital bed with more broken bones than teeth in his mouth!" Wilson yelled exasperated throwing his hands up in the air.

"And we'll never find out who did this to him, if I can't ask him."

Sawyer's words didn't surprise him. The same argument had popped out more than once, and Wilson had seen it coming. But what closed his mouth for good, wasn't the detective's lame attempt of circling him. What left the oncologist speechless and defeated, was a simple look at the two deployments: Cuddy and Sawyer on one side and himself, lonely and weaponless, on the other one. He was done, whether he had really thought he could make it or not, he had felt he had to try looking out for House. But in that moment, he felt he had no more cards to play.

Defeated, Wilson sighed and looked down shaking his head, his shoulders falling down on the heavy weight of his impotence.

"Fine," he finally muttered, then looked back up and pointed at both of them with his finger. "But I'm not going to remove the tube. I don't care how, but find a way not to make him talk."

Sawyer thought better to keep his triumphant face for himself. He had just gotten his green light, and didn't want to mess with it any longer. Dr. Cuddy didn't seem the kind of woman who could change her mind easily, but Dr. Wilson did look like one of those guys: tireless when it came to annoy you, to subtly get what they want. Trying to keep his cool, he turned quickly toward Cuddy and gave her a thankful nod. Then, while fishing for the phone in his pockets, he explained the two doctors he would have settled everything up and called a qualified agent to get pictures of House's injuries. That said, sure not waiting for them to add anything else, Sawyer left the room leaving the two doctors sharing a deep and awkward silence.

Once the door was closed, Cuddy stood up and walked toward Wilson. When she touched his shoulder, his whole back tensed and stiffened. Biting at her lip to repress a disconsolate sigh, Cuddy removed her hand but didn't step back.

"Wilson I know you're worried for the pain. This is an impossible situation for all of us-"

"Is it, Cuddy? It really is?" Wilson whispered in a low voice, slowly turning around to give her an oblique look full of resentment.

"What," she babbled shaking her head, confused and stepping away from him. "Of course it is, between the pain and the morphine's risk it's a dead-end, House is-"

"What?" The oncologist asked again in a low hiss, completely turning around and landing his accusing eyes on her. "House is what? How can you know Cuddy? You haven't been there with him, not even for a second."

"I had to take care of the rest Wilson," Cuddy answered quickly, hoping the way her chin jerked up proudly didn't betray her. "I'd love not to, but the hospital doesn't stop because of-"

"And neither does the dean, apparently," he insisted with a hard voice, then stepped close to her and Cuddy knew he could smell her weakness. "Marina, your daughter, House's team, police, the board…you've found time for everybody. Time for everything but stop by at his room. Is it…if it's too hard for you to see him like that, why don't you just say it? Instead of acting like you don't care? I understand Cuddy, but be honest-"

"This is not the point Wilson," she cut him off, quickly running away from him and placing her office, her nervous hands fidgeting with random papers on her desk. "You don't understand."

"Then enlighten me Cuddy. Please do," he teased her sarcastically. "What's the point? The bandages? You can't stand the view? Or it's about the stitches? Maybe you don't like them. Or what? The bruises ruining his face?"

"Wilson, don't-"

"Don't what? You didn't even ask me how it went. Don't you want to know how his face went pale when he lost consciousness because of the heart attack? How harmless he looked, confused as Sawyer questioned him? Let me ask you something Cuddy," Wilson said then, feeling rage rising inside him. "Don't you feel a bit hypocrite? You told me to wake up Amber, you," he pointed an accusing finger at her. "You convinced me to wake up my dying girlfriend to tell her goodbye. I had to hold her and look right in her face the moment she realized she was dying, and you can't even go see your boyfriend. You don't even try-"

"Because it's not about me Wilson," Cuddy cut him off in a low resigned voice, the defeat and pain he sensed in her voice underlined by the way she sat heavily on the couch. "I want to, I really do," she sighed and looked up at him with a bitter smile. "I just don't think he can stand it, me seeing him like that."

"Cuddy," he urged to say sitting down next to her, suddenly feeling like shit. "You've always been there at his lowest. Every time his health and life had been in danger you've had a first row seat-"

"But that was before. He had never mind friends being there but…I was there with Stacey, and I know he hated to be seen like that. I know how he resented her for pitying him afterwards. You know him," Cuddy said, then she sighed and shrugged as that simple sentence said it all. "I don't care how many broken bones he had, or how long it will take him to feel better or what he'll need me to do. He's a strong son of a bitch, but I can't see him until he's ready for it. You can't make me feel bad for this Wilson, I'm sorry. I do think if he wants to do it, he has the right to," she smiled again, and this time it was a real genuine smile as she took his hand. "But you can blame me as much as you want for asking you to be the one staying with him when he gets what he asked for."


	13. Chapter 13

_Another tough chapter for you, brave readers. House is about to get what he wanted…point it, does he really wants what he will get?_

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><p>13<p>

_No, no please let me sleep. Just a little longer, we have time for that… No, can't we wait?_

It was more likely the most shameless prayer he have ever said. Good thing nobody was there, inside his head, to hear it. Not that anybody would have believed it anyway. Gregory House begging to sleep, to get anything, and he had a hard time admitting it with himself too.

But he felt his chest still weighing heavily on him, his ribcage hurt at every struggled breathe. He could almost smell his skin, slightly burned where the paddles had shocked him, and despite his ears were whistling too loud for him to hear, House knew he was waking up. Or being woken up, to be more precise. He was needed, and for a moment, remembering his "almost" trip to death land, he regretted his decision to give a drug free testimony. First time he had woken up after the crisis, a not so happy Wilson had told him what police wanted from him. The shock and disappointment on the oncologist's face spoke loud, he was not happy at all with his decision. To be entirely honest, once he slowly came back to his senses and realized he had agreed the be taken off meds to give a proper answer to the detective, House thought it might haven't been his best idea ever. But no matter that, he didn't see why he shouldn't have done it.

A few minutes were all he needed, with the right questions he could have told the cop what he had to. All he had to do was hold on for a while, and then he wouldn't have been bothered anymore. Pain scared him, but he was confident he could have handled it long enough to get it done, and then just let Wilson drawn him into morphine. All he had to do was hold on and fight, just bear it and then-

_Oh no! God not this, they didn't tell me about this!_

He was still unable to move his neck, much because of the intubation, and didn't get to see the detective's face till he leaned down on him. Explaining with a calm voice the man next to him was a photographer.

_The camera kind of gives it away,_ House growled sarcastically to himself, his tongue actually itching to say that out loud and get any kind of control on his life one way or the other. And it was about to get even worst. The detective explained to him the photographer was there to take pictures of his injuries, to be added to the documentation. It was a useless clarification, and House hated when people around him felt the need to state the obvious. Not to mention how it pissed him off, being spoken like to a four years old child. But since he couldn't tell the man what he really thought, House had to just blink once to tell him he had gotten the message. The answer he repeated, when Sawyer told him Wilson would have helped him move if he needed. The second isolated blink didn't come out as steady as he wanted, being tossed around like a fresh fished fish to be exposed like a trophy wasn't a nice perspective. But before he could figure out what he disliked the most between the two, Wilson's hands had taken care of the sheets.

Close his eyes was all he could do, and it took him a little bit too much. He wasn't quick enough to close them before they could catch a glimpse of his own body. His beaten, devastated body. Wrapped in calves and bandages, wounds and bruises poking from the free portions of his skin. Despite the fact he was still on drugs, House didn't fail to recognize some of his injuries, fractures mainly, and he gulped down nervously thinking how much some of them would have hurt. Still nothing, nothing could have hurt as much and deep as look at his own, unrecognizable body.

Nausea took over his stomach and House shut his eyes closed, his mind desperately trying to alienate himself completely from what was going on around him. Wilson's hands exposing his wounds, and offering them to lens of the camera. The lack of response of his limbs, when his brain ordered them to run away and hide to avoid the humiliation. The merciless barrage of flashes falling on him, like bullets out of a machine gun.

That couldn't be true, that couldn't be him, it couldn't be happening to him. He hated being helped, and that went beyond it. Being handled like a fragile porcelain doll by his best friend, was the most humiliating thing that could have happened to him, and he couldn't even beg for it to stop.

He barely heard Wilson warning him he was about to open his hospital gown and check his thorax. House kept his eyes closed, hoping that way the oncologist couldn't see how ashamed he was, and for the first time he found a reason to be thankful for being unable to move his head. If anything, he couldn't shake his head no and tell him to stop. He couldn't have anyway, he felt so ashamed even asking for that torture to end was something he couldn't afford.

_No, please don't…don't do that-_

Two pairs of hands were now moving around him, Wilson's ones revealing his right leg and stranger ones maneuvering to get him into a sitting position. He couldn't scream for pain, but his body stiffened at the movement eloquently enough and Wilson urged to push the photographer away. House could sense the anger in his friend's voice as he warned the photographer to be more careful, and it was yet another nail in the coffin of his pride. Knowing someone needed to defend him like that, being unable to do it himself, made him both thankful and resentful toward the oncologist.

Was he really that lame? To the point he needed the king of wuss to tell a stranger how to handle is sore ass? Because if that was the case, he could live with the fact Cuddy wasn't there much better.

Eventually, the shame parade ended. One angle after the other, House's body was caught on camera. With the due differences, part of his brain wondered if raped women felt the same way he did, violated and harmless even more than the real moment they've been hurt. The fulfilling sensation of freedom he felt once they put him back down to lie on the bed didn't last long. Whatever relief it might had given him, disappeared when Wilson leaned down on him, announcing with a serious voice he was about to take his medication off. The oncologist did add a last recommendation hoping he could change his mind, but to be honest he didn't wait long for an answer and soon pulled out the key of the drug dispenser.

_Ok, here we go,_ House thought as his friend did what he had to. He closed his eyes and laid still, trying to relax as much as he could and not thinking about what was about to happen. _It can't be that bad, it's just pain after all. No stranger, right? I'm used to pain, I can deal with it, it won't take long Oh that is quick, he barely turned it off and…shit!_ He jolted up a little when a first, sadly familiar wave of pain detonated in his right thigh. _Ok, not that bad, it's just my damn leg. It simply hadn't hurt so much recently, it hadn't been that bad… Holy shit, why does my chest hurt so much? Oh yeah, the lung…God bless you Wilson! Oh my God, my head is about to explode, what did they do to me? Glass crashing, I remember… This is not good, every inch of my body hurts, it can't be true. My arms, why do they hurt so much? My leg, wasn't it already painful enough what…Oh God please, I can't stand this for long, so much pain…I don't want to, I'm not ready for this. Let's do this please, for God's sake Colombo, ask what you have to, oh my Lord it hurts, everything hurts, so much…no more please, no more…_


	14. Chapter 14

14

If it would have been possible take an image of pain, a picture or a more effective handmade painting, that would have sure been House's face. Wilson had no doubt about it, he was impressed by how fast morphine ceased to pervade House's body with his numbing effect. The oncologist saw it on his friend's face, getting worse and worse within seconds in every detail of his expression.

Wilson could see that House wasn't expecting that amount of pain. At first he was just lying there, with his eyes closed, but he soon opened them wandering around, vainly looking for something that anyway couldn't have done nothing to stop the painful tide from washing inside him. An animal that was what House looked like to him. He saw his friend's body jerk and shiver because of the painful signals leaving marks all over him, a wild animal once used to ride free and be the owner of his habitat, now reduced to a powerless and whimpering bundle of fur with sharp metallic teeth of a trap chewing his paw.

"Whatever you have to do," Wilson gave his back to House and spoke to Sawyer, with his voice firm but low not to have House listen how worried he was. "Do it fast. I don't think he can bear this long."

Sawyer was not a doctor, he'd never been sick and he had never watched a TV show about medicine. But he didn't need any of that knowledge to tell Dr. House was going through an excruciating pain. He was sweating, it was undeniable that thin translucent layer of wetness wasn't there when he was on drugs, and he looked like he was about to cry. No, he clearly couldn't have bear it long, and Sawyer felt he owed the doctor a quick and as accurate as he could interrogatory. It was all he could do, to pay him back for his effort.

Of course, the ultimate goal was to secure the son of bitches who had done that to him a long and hopefully unpleasant stay behind bars.

"Dr. House, can you hear me?" He asked then, House struggled but blinked once to answer him. "I know you can't talk, I can give you something to write. You think you can try?"

As messed up as he was, House tried to nod forgetting he was not supposed to, but he was soon reminded of that by the grief exploding in his neck. His upper body stiffened in protest, and he had to sink his teeth in the plastic of the tube waiting for the unpleasant sensation to go away. It didn't, but at least it faded enough to allow him to blink once in approval. As quick as he could, and because of that hurry fumbling too much with it, Sawyer urged to take out of his pocket a pocketbook and a pen. He turned toward Wilson for a quick consultation, and the oncologist nodded at House's right hand, then the cop carefully adjusted the pen between the doctor's fingers. The pen felt so heavy in his hand House was almost shocked by it, but also reassured by the evidence of the touch. He still had no idea how long he had been in that bed, but he did know he hadn't been able to trust his own feelings, thoughts and body in a long time. And the concrete sensation of that small object on his skin felt so real it almost made him cry.

But he had to man up, Sawyer was repeating his first question for the second time and he still had to find the right grip on the pen. Once he felt it steady enough, both bones in his wrist howling sorely, House looked over at the detective inviting him to ask again.

"I asked you if you think your attackers appeared to be from a street gang, you remember?" House blinked once, even holding the pen was painful and he was determined to use it the less he could. "But you weren't clear in your answer. You think they were of the same gang of your patient, Jaime Cortez?" He blinked again, pain making his answer quick and determined. "Are you sure about this?"

House thought about blinking one more time, but his mind was clear as much as his body was drug free. He knew the main reason he was going through that torture, was that the man up there needed the most accurate and precise answers he could. Gripping the pen, House stretched his hand the better he could to reach the pocketbook Sawyer was holding out to him. The first and the second letter he wrote came out crooked because of his trembling hand, so he gathered his energies and went on. Once he had done, his hand fell heavily on the bed, the effort for that simple gesture spreading all over in his body, and he tried to recover while Sawyer tried to decipher the message.

"Same clothes," Wilson said, translating his friend's handwriting, then frowned. "What does it mean?"

"Gangs usually wear the same outfit, like a uniform. It's a matter of membership." Sawyer muttered thoughtfully, then looked down at House. "Black shirt, short sleeves with a white spot and a black skeleton in it?"

By the way House blinked yes at his question, almost enthusiastically, it was clear he had no doubts about the fact his attackers belonged to Black Calaveras. The determination in the doctor's eyes, the way he was fiercely fighting his questioning gaze despite the obvious pain caused Sawyer to be both sure about the answer, and pissed because that confirmation was the last spike on the coffin of his theory.

"Why do you think they came after you?" Sawyer asked, neither House nor Wilson liking the whining note in his disappointed voice. "Your patient is the boss's brother, why would they hurt the doctor who's taking care of him?"

Out of nowhere, House found the strength to roll his eyes at him. Maybe he should have reconsidered his esteem for the detective after all… He could barely remember what they did to him, how was he supposed to know why they did it? Find out that was police's job, not his. He motioned with the pen to Sawyer, and he handled him the pocketbook. The doctor urged to write something despite the aching pain in his wrist and whole body, and this time the cop didn't need any translation for the simple "no idea" he had written. His answer sure wasn't the one Sawyer had hoped for, but there was really nothing he could do about it. It wasn't like he had taken his time to ask them, in between a kick in his groin and a punch on his face-

Godamnit impulsive reaction! Oh he paid for that, he stretched his whole arm trying to reach for Sawyer's coat, and lost the grip around the pen when he grabbed the garment and pulled to get his attention. Not only his wrist and arm, but his whole being echoed with excruciating pain. He felt a little movement of nausea in his stomach, but at least no signs of an upcoming heart attack.

"What?" Sawyer asked confused.

"House, what are you doing? Lay down!" Wilson said stepping in, he held his friend's shoulders and pushed him down on the bed, before he could move too much and rip the tube out of his throat. "Be careful!"

"He's trying to say something-"

"You're supposed to be the one asking!" The oncologist pointed out angrily, struggling to keep his friend down and finally meeting his eyes. He was imploring him to get his message, then he finally sighed and said to Sawyer. "Give him that pen again."

The detective ignored the hissing dislike in his voice and picked up the pen, he gave it back to House and stuck the pocketbook as close as he could. He had to hold it steady as House wrote, whatever it was it had to be damn important to him. But once he'd done and Sawyer looked at it he frowned, clueless.

"Let him die?" he muttered confused, reading out loud what House had so laboriously graved on the paper. His confusion passed on to Wilson, the oncologist looked at the message but there was really nothing to be mistaken "What is this, Dr. House?"

With visible pain all over his face, House waved the pen to get the pocketbook back, and this time his message made more sense.

"That's what they told you?" House blinked once, praying God he wouldn't have need to write again. "Let him die…your patient?" House blinked again, but the cop shook his head looking over at Wilson, puzzled "This doesn't make any sense—"

Pain.

Tricky thing about pain, he had come to learn in years of close frequentation, is that it takes a while to kick in for real. Sometimes it starts as nothing, a little itching sensation somewhere in your body that you can get rid of with a brush of your hand. Then it grows, you keep telling yourself it's nothing but it gets bigger and bigger. Till the point you realize it would be delusional to tell yourself there's none. The same thing was happening to him, it had started bad but stay focused on what he had to do have pushed the pain back a little. Then, while Wilson and Sawyer kept talking, House suddenly felt it all. For the first time in years, the pain in his leg was the last of his problems. There wasn't a single inch of his body that didn't hurt, and the fact Sawyer didn't believe him sure didn't help.

He hadn't agreed to give up on the drugs to be judged unreliable no matter what. Sawyer had to man up, accept he was wrong and trust him.

"You're saying you made me take him off meds for nothing?" Wilson was saying, pissed and obviously careless of the authority standing right before him.

"I'm sorry Dr. Wilson. I really thought it could work- What the fuck!"

As he felt something try to reach for his gun, Sawyer's first reaction was to slap it away, only to find himself hitting House's weightless and weak hand. That didn't seem to stop the doctor, his right hand gasped in the air again and Sawyer gave him back the pocketbook. His lack of enthusiasm was washed away by the way House literally ripped off his hands the note pad. Puzzled, Wilson and Sawyer watched him oddly hold the pocketbook with his casted arms. The energies he put into writing, scared and amazed them at the same time. House didn't wait for them to take the pocketbook, but showed it to them. Wilson needed all his knowledge of his friend's hand writing to get the words, but still it didn't make much sense to him.

"Video?" He read, then shook his head. "House, they checked the security videos, there's nothing-"

He was pissed. Wilson knew how House looked like when he was, and he could tell he was extremely frustrated by how they kept failing to understand him. Growling his rage and pain, House wrote down something else, every letter hurting and burning like salt on open wounds but he had to. He would have had time to rest and heal after, if only they-

"Computer…your computer?" Wilson asked again reading his note, but the oncologist was still clueless. "House, I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about- Hei! What are you doing?"

His hands moved faster than his mouth, they had to when House tried to get rid of the straps holding the tube to his mouth. To his major shock, Wilson had to fight him. He was beaten all over like scrambled eggs, still he seemed determined to give him a hard time, fidgeting against him apparently careless of the soreness every movement evoked. The fact he didn't care didn't mean grief wasn't there, what that sudden rush of adrenaline had caused him couldn't be strong enough to erase the pain and Wilson hoped his pressure to keep him down could dissuade him. But it was a vain hope, as the oncologist soon found out. And knowing he was probably doing nothing but add pain to him he, had to change strategy. He quickly made the call, questioning was over, and he put a definite end to it with a dose of sedative strong enough to knock down the fighting lion right beneath him.


	15. Chapter 15

15

The only thing that could reassure her, the only small positive detail she felt she could cling on in the two disconsolate men chatting in the hallway, Cuddy found it in a bitter self-conviction. The second questioning couldn't have had a worst outcome than the first one. House had almost died because of the high dosage of morphine, and as bad as it could have been, pain on itself wasn't a life threaten for him.

Still, it was clear something hadn't gone as predicted. There were no other explanations, for the beaten expression on Wilson and Sawyer's faces. For the umpteenth time that day, Cuddy had to swallow down and let out a long, calming, breath, determined to keep negative thoughts out of her mind as long as she could.

"What happened?" She asked once she was close enough. Wilson gave her a worried look and automatically she looked at her left, where open blinds allowed to a glimpse of sleeping House. "There is something wrong with him?"

"No, no don't worry. I just-" the oncologist huffed, adding after a quick look at Sawyer. "I sedated him again. I had to."

There was no need to add anything more of course. Clarify why he had needed to knock House down again was useless, and sure Cuddy didn't need any more details. Knowing she could look at House was like being attracted by a powerful magnet, and she fell in the trap. Gulping down, Cuddy turned on her left again and looked at him, and she had to thank the distance. All she could see, the bandages around his head, the bruises and the wounds, were enough for her to know she didn't need more.

"Did you get the information you were looking for?" Cuddy asked then to Sawyer, shrugging away in the blink of an eye whatever discomfort the view might have caused her.

"I'm not really sure about this," the detective admitted shamefully, clearly nervous about giving her bad news. "He did tell me something, but it doesn't fit with the idea I had about this whole story."

"It doesn't mean it can't be," Cuddy observed knowingly. "What did he say?"

"That who attacked him belong to his patient's gang, and that apparently they told him to let Cortez die," Sawyer said, absently browsing his notes.

"And this can't be because-"

"I'm not saying it can't be, just…it doesn't fit," the cop huffed enlarging his arms. "Cortez is the boss's younger brother, he's the right arm. Why would his own gang want him to die?"

"I'm sorry detective, but what's the real problem here?" Cuddy asked annoyed, causing Wilson to fidget on his feet, not at ease at all with how she was challenging the detective. "That what House said is wrong, or that it doesn't fit your theory?"

"It's not…just about this Cuddy," Wilson stepped in, confused by the fact somewhat he was now on Sawyer's side all of sudden. "Because of his conditions we can't be sure House…knows…what he's saying."

"Wilson, you know him," she said in a low voice, looking straight at her friend. "And you were there. Did he look like he was talking nonsense?"

_Damn no! I have rarely seen him so determined, he was this close to rip his bandages off, _the oncologist thought gulping down, the memories of how he had been forced to fight House still vivid in his mind. He looked over at Cuddy, her grey blue eyes steady, forcing him to admit she was right, as she usually was when it was about House. Yeah he had been there, he had seen House fight with all his strength to give them the last information, and it wasn't like he had much energy to waste.

"Still," Wilson sighed with a small shrug, leaving Sawyer clueless about the silent conversation that had happened between the two doctors. "We can't understand what he was trying to tell us."

"Why? What did he say?"

The two men consulted each other, then Sawyer handled her the pocketbook. Cuddy took it, and froze any kind of thought and reaction when she saw the graved letters, signs of House's efforts. She read the last two words he had written, video and computer didn't trigger anything to her but Cuddy lost no hope and looked over at Sawyer, confident he could fill the gaps.

"Why did he write this? What were you asking him?"

"Nothing, that's the point," the detective sighed. "I wasn't even questioning him. I was talking with Dr. Wilson, and he almost jumped out of the bed to get the pocketbook and write."

Words died in his mouth, he lost track of them and tilted his head on one side, intrigued by the way the dean of medicine kept looking at the pocketbook, as if she was expecting those lines of ink to be brought to live and talk to her. Either she was being naïve, or she just wanted to be involved in the investigation. Although, judging from what he had seen of Cuddy so far, he soon changed his mind. Thinking more likely she knew what she was doing, whatever it was.

"His computer?" She asked then, and it didn't really sound like a question.

"I guess so. But what does it mean?"

Wilson had to admit it, he was sure Cuddy knew House better than anybody else. Still, he couldn't trust the revelation he saw on her face, no matter how bright it seemed.

"It's his computer," she informed them with no hesitation, then looked over at Sawyer. "There's a webcam on his computer. In the last days he had been let it on during the nights."

"Why would he do that?" Sawyer asked, his detective's senses suddenly tickling. "You said there's no reasons to think someone might have wanted to-"

"Hurt him? No, and I still think that," she said confident, then she switched interlocutor to Wilson. "He told me he'd found old patient's files out of place. He thinks Masters snoops in the folders to learn more about the way he works."

"Masters? The young woman working for him?" The detective asked, apparently puzzled as much as Wilson seemed to be by the news.

"Are you sure?" The oncologist asked Cuddy.

"I don't know if it's true and I don't care, but House thinks so. And he had picked up the habit to set the webcam and point it on the office, in case she shows up."

"So you mean," Sawyer asked, leaving Wilson pondering that actually sounded crazy enough for someone like House. Crazy enough to be true, of course. "There might be a video of what happened last night?"

"I think that's what House was trying to say," Cuddy stated. "If we can have access to his computer, I think I can do something about that."

"Well yeah, they should have done by now," Sawyer said checking his watch. "If you have a minute-"

"Sure."

She said nothing but that, and literally took off on her heels. Then she stopped suddenly, looking over at House's room before stopping a nurse, and say something to her. Then she just started to walk again toward the elevators, followed by Wilson and Sawyer who had to hurry to catch up with her. The three of them crowded the elevator, as the door closed the oncologist saw the nurse go in House's room, and even if he couldn't see her anymore he had no doubt she was taking care of the blinds. The absent smile on his face didn't last long. When the elevator opened on the fourth floor and he realized he was about to go in House's office, Wilson felt his breath cut in his throat. He wasn't sure he wanted to do it, not even to try, and he looked over at Cuddy sure to find a similar expression on her face. But he saw nothing but the familiar dean of medicine's confident mask, fiercely guiding them to the crime scene. As weird as it might sound, as much as it was nice to see the one in charge keeping it together, Wilson had to admit Cuddy's behavior was getting on his nerves. And her lack of reaction as they stepped inside House's office, left him appalled.

Careless of her friend's furious glare, Cuddy seemed more focused in following Sawyer's instructions, and be careful not to touch what the forensic had left to check. Then she asked permission, and sat down in from of House's computer.

"There's the webcam," Sawyer said pointing at the small apparel hung on the computer screen. "We haven't checked it yet, it didn't seem related to the assault."

"Here," Cuddy cut him off, skillfully maneuvering with House's computer with Wilson and Sawyer standing behind her. "There's a list of video of the webcam, this-" she said and clicked the last one "-is from last night."

The click of the mouse opened a small window on the screen, and Cuddy enlarged it to full screen. Wilson and Sawyer had to lean forward and poke their heads from above her shoulders, to watch it better. The first image on the screen was House's face, pulling away from the webcam once he had settled it. He seemed to touch the webcam and adjust it till he got the angle he wanted, then he stood up. The upper part of his body disappeared out of the screen but they saw him search his pockets, wear his coat and take his backpack, then he walked toward the door.

Silence in the office was so deep it was almost scary. Wilson was already unease by the situation, and watching something that have happened in that very same place and the silent video felt kind of creepy. But neither Sawyer nor Cuddy seemed to be disturbed by it. Holding whatever comment along with their breaths, they watched House came back and drink from his mug, then he went back to the door but stopped.

"Shit!" Sawyer hissed. "The angle is wrong, we can't see the guy."

They couldn't in fact. Given the position of the webcam, all they could see was House's back, covering the man who had just stepped in.

"C'mon," Sawyer muttered leaning even more forward. "C'mon take a step forward. Let me see your face… Bingo!"

The Detective's enthusiastic comment was easy to understand, when the guy stepped forward and his face appeared on the screen he knew he was one step closer to solve the case. But then things on the screen happened way too fast. They watched House throw the ball at the guy, hit his chest with the cane and then hammer it on his head, and last thing they knew the big guy was down on the ground. They just had a partial view, but what have happened seemed obvious, then Wilson looked down at the back of Cuddy's head and a sudden epiphany hit him.

"I think we should," he suggested shyly, tentatively moving his hand to the mouse still seized by Cuddy's hand, "leave it to the police now."

But it was too late. That wasn't a DVD they could pause or stop, or skip scenes. They saw it all, the second guy coming out of nowhere and crashing on House. They saw the two guys dressed alike team up to batter his stomach with shots. Wilson found himself naivelyc heering for his friend, when he saw him shrug the two guys off himself one way or the other. It didn't last long, given the camera angle they couldn't see all of it but the general picture wasn't hard to get. They didn't need details, and above all they didn't need audio. They saw them throw House over his desk, scatter him around like a ball in a flipper. When on the screen they smashed him on the x-ray screen, Wilson had to avert his eyes, he couldn't bear it anymore. The oncologist glanced down at Cuddy, steady as she had been since from the start, but he noticed her hand gripping the mouse turning white for the effort.

Then it was the end, the last string cut when one of the two men held House up while the other one picked up the helmet and swung it on his head. Wilson closed his eyes, then he abruptly pulled back from the desk and ran out of the room seeking for air and some relief in the outside balcony. Whatever happened next, he didn't know. He vaguely heard Cuddy and Sawyer talk, the man mumbling something about a good chance. They had faces to work on, and House was right, those guys were really Black Calaveras. He didn't hear Sawyer leave, but he did hear Cuddy join him in the balcony.

Not sure about what to expect, Wilson finally turned around. He was still mad at Cuddy, thinking the line between safe distance and honest indifference was a really thin one. But then he looked up at her and the mask was gone, the confidence in her eyes replaced by fear and a trace of tears. All of sudden she seemed so small and out of place, the oncologist felt nothing but lost. Whatever resentment he might have had just disappeared. Without saying a word, he stepped closer to Cuddy and invited her in his arms, nothing but relieved when she returned his hug. Not to mention, how simply right it felt when she started to sob and sigh, when he felt real tears pouring from her eyes.

"Thank God Cuddy," he said in a low voice after a while, still gently holding her. "I was this close to believe you didn't give a damn."

She didn't answer, but Wilson felt a nervous laugh shake her. He sighed and smiled and hug her thigh, just holding her till she pulled back from him. Her eyes were red but Wilson knew it wouldn't have last long, she had no time to fuss after all. So he just gave her the time to recover. Cuddy sobbed a couple of times, pulling a handkerchief out of nowhere to wipe away the last tears, then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath approaching the curb.

"I couldn't," she said then. "I was afraid if I'd let this get at me, the fear…I felt I wouldn't have been able to handle it anymore. As long as I could deal with this from a working perspective, rationalize…I would have been safe."

"Cuddy," he said stepping close to her. "I know you're the boss, but you're also his girlfriend, and you have all the rights to feel-"

"I don't even what I'm supposed to feel."

"-whatever you want."

"But I can't let this crash me," Cuddy answered, balancing in her the boss and woman heart. "If I stop fighting this for a second…I just looked at his face for two seconds Wilson, and everything seemed to be falling apart. I can't," she closed her eyes and huffed, biting at her bottom lip. "I can't breakdown Wilson, I can't afford it. I have a whole hospital to take care of, it kills me but I know right now there's nothing I can really do for him."

"Then do something for yourself," Wilson said wrapping one arm around her. "Take your time, get some rest. You can go home and spend some time with Rachel-"

"I'm not leaving Wilson," she hissed immediately.

"Ok, so call her, eat something…whatever Cuddy, but for God's sake slow down. Nobody would think-"

"I don't care about what other people think," she huffed and turned around, leaning with her back on the parapet. "I know you thought I was being a heartless bitch so far, but I had my reasons."

"Listen Cuddy, I get it. This had been a crappy day, and I have a feeling the following ones won't get any better. You have to take a break now," the oncologist insisted with his best caring voice. "I'm not gonna wake him up again today, I don't want him to be in anymore pain or high dosage of drugs unless it's necessary. We'll try to extubate him soon, and he's gonna need you then. Not me, not my fussing and whining attention, but yours."

He was right, they both knew it. Taking care of House was never easy, and no matter Wilson's efforts they've come to the point the girlfriend had to step in. The self control barrier she had tried to build around her might have been still there, but it was irremediably cracked. And Cuddy thought after all Wilson has done way more than what he was supposed to.

It was her turn to step up, and when she left House's office she was shocked to realize how eager and scared she was at the same time.


	16. Chapter 16

_We are moving away from House for a bit now, after all there is a case on the whiteboard as well. Thanks to all of you for reading and reviewing, it's good to see you're putting up with this bumpy journey._

16

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Taub asked as Foreman stopped the car.

"That's the one," the neurologist mumbled absently, pensively turning off the engine and looking at their destination, "the patient gave us."

"Then you were right. Ask him straight was a waste of time," he stated unfastening his belt. "He must have jerked us around. No way he lives here."

"I guess we'll never find out if we stay here," Foreman huffed, then quickly got out of the car and Taub followed him. "Look at the bright side, doesn't look like we're gonna need the police cover."

"Yeah, that's comforting," he mumbled adjusting the medical bag on his shoulder. "Especially since we decided not to involve the cops in our investigation."

"For a second I thought we could let Masters ask them. The way she gets things we need just by asking its…disarming."

"It's creepy actually. I guess it means we're just accustomed to House's habits, after all these years," Taub muttered, then he chuckled bitterly. "Did you see Chase when Cortez gave us the keys? I think his jaw is still wiping the floor."

"That girl has her ways," the neurologist huffed, then checked his note and shrugged shaking his head. "Address matches, it must be this."

Not entirely convinced, Taub looked up at the building in front of them and he had to bite his tongue not to ask Foreman if he was sure for the 20th time. Because the two floors buildings, with a spacious front yard and driveway, was the last residence he would have expected to find. It wasn't exactly a palace, and the grass in the yard seemed to have won the last match with the mower. Not quite the kind of domicile he had expected.

"According to what Cortez said to Masters, this was their parent's home. Cortez and his brother grew up here, and he's keeping the place," the neurologist explained, then shrugged. "Either he's just sentimental, or he's keeping up appearances."

"Since we're here and we have the keys, let's take a look. This place is better than what I thought, still I don't feel like being here after dark."

"Anxious to go back home?" Foreman teased with a smirk as he followed him to the entrance.

"We have…couple therapy on Thursdays night," he admitted, fumbling to wear the gloves "And get there late isn't a good start."

"Not to mention, it'll give away how enthusiast you are about it," the neurologist added in between his teeth opening the door, smiling at Taub's annoyed glare.

"First it was Chase mocking you because of the similarities with the patient's history. Then me jerking Masters around because she pities House, and how they're handling the situation. Now you messing with me over my marriage," he listed as they stepped inside. "Why do we feel the need to fill House's gaps?"

"Because his sarcasm is fun, and it helps to ease the tension," Foreman stated closing the door behind him, then added. "And I've never said that."

Taub could do nothing but agree. Starting to get and see House's points was somewhat scary, and even more was finding themselves think alike with him. Better stay in a more familiar and safer ground, and dedicate themselves to one of the first things they've both learned working for House. Searching patient's home looking for confirmation of their theory, or at least for a new lead to follow. Heavy metal poisoning was on top of their list, even more since there hadn't been any change in the patient, which in their users guidebook meant check sinks, faulty electrical appliances or a suspect stain under the bathroom's tiles. They didn't teach you those things in med school, they've been told how to recognize and treat diseases and which drug use with every illness… That a rusted sink could hide clues, that patient selling out the apartment to buy a floating house could mean neurological problem, that even the smallest detail in someone's life could be the key they needed, was something you could only learn nowhere but in House's private med school. It didn't cost money, economically it was free: what you had to sign for, was giving up on some of your integrity and morality perhaps, bear the boss's rude ways and accept to say goodbye to your private life for being rewarded by the most challenging job doctor could ask for.

Something they hated House, yet every single one of them had been fired so many times they could blame no one but themselves if they were still with them. Because no matter the bitter bites they had to swallow, the intrusions in their lives and the judgments uttered by the most non-Solomonic man on heart, at the end of the day the outcome was damn worthy.

"I check the bathroom," Taub announced since Foreman had already started to inspect the kitchen.

"I'll go to look at the bedroom after this."

Left alone in the kitchen, pursuing a suggestion of his own he had so far kept for himself, Foreman went straight to the fridge. The symptoms didn't exactly fit food poisoning, but since the patient's conditions were stable there was the chance something in his diet had caused the first symptoms and nothing was changing because of hospital's food. Having grown to House's school, he hoped for something to change soon in the patient and give them new hints. But once he looked at the fridge, his theory crashed on shelves and boxes tidy and neat, and he was glad he hadn't shared his idea with anybody. Mumbling to himself, Foreman dived his hand in the fridge checking sell-by date of every item. Once he found out nothing had expired, he started to select fresh items but other than a rotten apple he found nothing interesting.

Huffing disconsolate, he stuck the apple in a plastic bag, mainly to give a purpose to his searching. Then he closed the fridge and opened the small door of the freezer. What he found there, or better what he didn't find there, made him smile although it definitely ruled out food poisoning. No frozen peas, microwave meals or Jelly Bean ice cream, there was nothing in there. Nothing but an icy and molded empty cave. That invading residual was all over the freezer, and although it could hardly sustain his food poisoning theory and didn't strictly apply to heavy metal one either, but some kind of poison could have gone up on the whiteboard.

While Foreman was happily scratching the walls of the freezer to collect a sample, upstairs in the bathroom Taub was feeling like Daniel Lorusso in Karate Kid, trying to catch an unidentified bug with a clamp. He didn't feel like grab it with his hand no matter the glove, it was big and disgusting and supported by a numerous and vindictive family. The doctor won his battle eventually and stuck the bug in the small plastic bag, careless of the fact it was destined to a slow and painful death. On his way downstairs, he ran into Foreman, who held up to him his precious icy discovery.

"Nice," Taub granted him with a small nod, but then grinned and showed him the agonizing bug. "Mine moves, though."

The neurologist rolled his eyes and chuckled, then they laid both samples in the bag.

"This place is too clean, too tidy," Foreman huffed poking his head in the bedroom. "But the name on the bills is Cortez's one. So it's his place."

"Maybe we're just misjudging him. Not all gang's members are criminal, I guess," Taub muttered in a low voice, earning an annoyed look from his coworker to which he answered with a shrug. "Hey, it's a compliment! And maybe House was right at the beginning, we shouldn't relate his activity to his disease."

"Well, we better find something anyway. Nothing has changed in Cortez recently, I expect a massive breakdown at any moment and I'd like to see it coming."

"I'm gonna check the garage, then we'll go back to the hospital to test what we've found. Bugs and mold, there have to be something there."

"Yeah," Foreman huffed absently, then sighed and became deeply serious looking at Taub with a curios face. "How do you think he's doing?" he asked then unexpectedly.

"Half of his bones are broken and he's in pain, still he didn't miss the chance to do something risky and inappropriate. I'd say he's doing pretty well after all," Taub chuckled, but it was clear by Foreman's face that wasn't the answer he was waiting for. "I don't know, and I don't want to ask Wilson. And sure not Cuddy."

"I've heard he was really eager to give the police some information. I guess this means he's doing good, despite everything. He's still seeking for answers and solving puzzles, no matter what."

"House is a tenacious animal, it takes a lot to take him down for good. And so is Cuddy. I wouldn't want to be around when they'll find out who attacked him."

"True," Foreman sighed, then checked his watch. "And I wouldn't want to take none of them crap, if it takes us a life time to search this place and get nothing out of it. I'll check the bedroom."

Taub nodded at him and went downstairs to look for the garage, still thinking nobody from the hospital would have dared to lay his hands on House. Then he focused back on work and opened the door of the garage, freezing on his feet with a small grin on his face.

Heavy metal poisoning had just jumped back on top of their list.


	17. Chapter 17

_What about something about Cuddy, and the way she feels? My apologies if you find some chapters boring, just trying to balance things in the story._

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><p>17<p>

6.30pm.

More or less the average length of her usual working day, with some of extra time maybe, but still it counted as two. No wonder, with the day they had been through. There were too many things weighting on her shoulders, she couldn't fit them all in 24 hours. She had to add the heavy addition of dealing with the police to the usual amount of work, keep the demons of fear away to think straight, and try to remember herself that inconsiderate risky attitude of him was one of things she loved the most in House.

Then the last drip, the video and the confrontation with Wilson…

God he was so right! She needed a break, she needed to rest. However, she wished she could have done that without closing her eyes. Keep the images of the video out of her mind was hard enough, close her eyes would have done nothing but replay them over and over again, vividly and scary. What had they done to him? Why? That kind of violence, unexplained and for free was something out of her mind. Two against one, with such eagerness to hurt a human being.

She had to be honest with herself, or at least try to. Was she shocked because it was about House, her employees and lover, or about someone who couldn't just defend himself?

_**A cripple. Why don't you just say it?**_

_Because it doesn't matter. Not to me._

Cuddy questioned and answered herself in the blink of an eye, with no hesitation. Yes, House was a cripple but she had never, ever pitied him for that, or even seen that as a real flaw. What they had done to him could have happened to anybody, even to someone perfectly healthy. She couldn't think of House as just an easy target, she couldn't see him as weak and powerless. It might hadn't been a matter of physical strength, but he sure was a fighter-

"Oh stop it!" She grumbled to herself, hastily grabbing the mug of tea from her desk. "This is stupid, and useless."

_And painful._

In the loneliness of her office, Cuddy put the mug down. She had prepared some tea, out of habit, but she didn't really feel like drinking some in that moment. She didn't feel like doing anything actually, but she had to keep herself busy somehow. Then her tired eyes landed on the phone on her desk, and the simple view lightened up something in her mind, so she picked it up and called Marina.

"_Hello?"_

"Hi Marina, it's me."

"_Oh doctor Cuddy! What's new? How's Dr. House?"_

"He's," _stubbornly doing anything he can to scare the hell out of me._ "He's sleeping now, they're keeping him sedated."

"_But…is he gonna be ok?"_

Despite the situation, Cuddy smiled at her nanny's genuine concern. Not that House used to have, much of a conversation with her but he had become a presence in her life hard to ignore for whoever got in his track.

"Yes, he will," she kept it short, no need and no will to dwell deeper in details. "And it looks like police has a good lead now," _Thanks to him, he gave it to them._ "Listen Marina, I know it comes with such a short notice but you think you can stay over for the night? I …need to stay here," _With him, I need him._

"_Of course Dr. Cuddy, no problem."_

"You're a real blessing Marina," Cuddy sighed in relief, then checked her watch. "Is Rachel still up?"

"_Yes, she's waiting for you to come home from work." _

"Would you give her the phone? I'll try to explain her."

"_Sure,"_ Cuddy heard confused noises coming from the phone, as Marina held it on Rachel's ear. _"Say hi to mommy, Rachel."_

"_Mommy."_

How could a single word being so overwhelming, Cuddy thought she would have never found out. It had taken her weeks to figure out what amazed her the most, between that and House saying "I love you", and she had soon decided that comparison wasn't one to debate. For the time being, that was what she needed. A harmless and superficial chit-chat with her barely three years old daughter, trying to tell her about something she had seen on TV. Eventually, she did ask when she would have been back home. In Rachel's world, dinner has to be with mommy and sometimes that grumpy and oddly funny man she brought home, and nothing could have changed that. Although she hated lying to her daughter, Cuddy had to go there when Rachel whined about wanting to have ice cream with her before going to sleep.

"Rachel honey, I'm gonna be home late," Cuddy tried to explain with a sweet voice.

"_I wait,"_ the girl declared, with a confident voice that made Cuddy smile.

"No sweetie, I'm gonna be home really late and I want you to go to sleep, ok?"

"_Ok mommy," Good girl_ Cuddy thought with relief. _"I want breakfast with you tomorrow."_

_Damn Rachel, give me a break!_ Cuddy thought, biting at her bottom lip.

"I have to wake up really soon Rachel. You know mommy has to work right?"

"_Yes," I'm sorry Rachel, I'm so sorry I can't explain you. "Can I have ice cream with Marina?"_

Rachel's blunt and careless request, gave Cuddy mixed feelings. The relief she proved for being relieved from giving her daughter any further explanations, oddly mixed with the awareness of being so easy to be replaced. But Cuddy knew she couldn't have it all, and figured out being spared to give reasons for her prolonged absence was something she could easily live with. Then smiled on the phone, and told Rachel to give the phone back to Marina. After having agreed with the nanny on one spoon of ice cream and nothing more, she asked her to play along with her waking up soon version, then they said goodbye.

Once she put the phone down, Cuddy's hand went back for the mug. Instead of drinking it, she just kept holding the mug and look at the dark liquid inside. She wasn't supposed to be there, she knew it. Too bad what she didn't know, was where she was actually supposed to be. Home, with Rachel? Where she would have spent every second thinking about House, anxiously watching the phone, unable to sleep? At House's bedside? Maybe, but what good could come out of that? For who? Working wasn't even an option, she could stay in her office and try but she knew whatever file or paper wouldn't have been enough.

Sighing, Cuddy closed her eyes and bit at her bottom lip, then pushed the chair away and turned around to face the window. It was already dark outside, and for a second she wondered if they were out there, maybe planning another visit. It was unlikely, they had wanted to send him a message. Sawyer had no doubt, if they'd wanted to kill him... She felt she could trust Sawyer on that, nevertheless she had given proper instruction to security.

It was barely 7.00 pm, and she had never regretted more to have nothing to do.

With a long sigh, Cuddy stood up and closed the blinds of the window. She then fished in her purse, and once she found her wallet she left her office heading to the cafeteria. Not that she was hungry, not really, but it was 7.00 pm, shifts were switching all over the hospital. Doctors, nurses and staff members coming inside to replace the tired ones, a whole new batch of employees unaware of the drama were about to come. The shifts change was a small window of peace she could really use given the circumstances. A space of time she could take advantage of to show her face, poke her head and give a look around, or even something as simple as buy something to eat, in the mere chance her stomach would have finally opened up again.

As she has hoped and expected, Cuddy managed to get something from the cafeteria without having to bear awkward glances. Once back in the office, she locked the door and closed the blinds claiming some privacy, then spotted a folder on the coffee table near the couch. She remembered then, she had meant to give a look at House's patient file, but events have taken over. Glad to have a bone to chew, she kicked her shoes off and went to her private bathroom to get a blanket she used to keep there. Spreading on the coffee table the items she had bought, Cuddy picked up the folder and sat down on the couch opening the file. She barely made it to the third line, before she realized how tired she was.

Oh God, when had it been the last time she had stopped?

She didn't remember, she didn't want to and just abandoned herself throwing her head back. Cuddy didn't even try to fool herself around with the idea of working, she had somehow found a small bubble of relax and didn't want to let it go. The dean of medicine laid down on the couch and engulfed herself in the blanket, closing her eyes. As soon as they were, House's image shaped in her mind. Not a good one, but that glimpse of bruised face she had caught earlier, and a sudden lump formed in her throat. Would have he been ok? No, she wasn't concerned for the night, she was well aware that sweet caring hypocrite named James Wilson – the one who had tried to convince her to go home - was right there, keeping an eye on House. Cuddy envied him, the oncologist could do things she couldn't think off. She could have gone upstairs of course, no one would have stopped her. But maybe Wilson wasn't that far from the truth, after all. She wasn't sure she was strong enough to be at House's side, and she knew he wouldn't have felt at ease with her around, not just yet. That was one thing they had in common, both of them hated being powerless and unable to do anything, and they incredibly sucked at cover it. Even if she'd felt like go and see him, no matter his conditions House would have sure sensed her struggle turning it into his own.

She had waited years to get rid of awkwardness, silences and odd misunderstanding between them. Their relationship had just started to scratch it all away from the surface, and she didn't want to take a step back. Cuddy knew Wilson was right, whether she liked it or not, her moment was approaching. And as her fatigue finally started to drag her into a hardly resting sleep, she prayed to be ready for that.


	18. Chapter 18

_Thanks to those who appreciated a take on Cuddy's point of view. It might have slowed down the story for now, but it was part of it nevertheless. As much as this chapter does, and I hope you'll enjoy it despite everything._

18

His jaw was broken, it had to. He remembered it already hurt while they were attacking him, and it had been unbearable during the second questioning.

Broken ribs…by the way pain had spread when he had tried to reach for the detective, he would have said they were at least four, five maybe. He didn't know exactly, maybe he should have put the one perforating his lung on a different bill.

His whole cranium was pounding, and that told him at least two things. One, he had a concussion. Hell, he probably had more than one, but sure he had gotten at least one when his head had been smashed on the x-ray screen. Yep, that was thing number two: memories were coming back to him. Lack of drug and time had done that to him, along with the detective's stimulation through his questions. Events, how things had gone, what they had said along with the epiphany of the video "sleeping" in his computer.

His whole chest was sore, both because of the assault and the shock he had been through. But he knew about that already, and moved on to the left side of his body. He had a feeling his left leg was badly broken, the excruciating pain he had immediately felt coming from there had shocked him. It was relieving, in a scary and confused way, but for the first time in years his right thigh wasn't the main source of pain in his body.

Slowly he climbed up. The left shoulder ached softly, telling him that at least wasn't fractured, unlike some fingers on his left hand. Nothing broken on the right one, the pain he had felt holding and using the pen was more focused on his wrist, but not strong and deep enough to be compared to the one he had perceived coming from a little above in his right arm. So a broken arm, leg and ankle, concussions, fingers and shoulder. Not to mention, the various and many trauma and wounds he still couldn't get hold of. It was bad, Wilson was right about that, and also about the fact it could have been worse. Well, he could have died, just to mention a different outcome. Even if it hadn't been his visitor's intention, he had gone pretty close to that. He might had been drugged down and unconscious-

_Geez, you're a think-addict! You can't help but rationalize no matter what, right?_

- but he was perfectly aware he had been quite close to pay the final visit to the Black Lady. A handful of inches have saved him when they've used him as a hammer on the x-ray screen, not to mention the potential deadly consequences of his injuries. Then of course, the cherry on top, his bold moves had earned him two burned squares on his chest, to fight back a cardiac arrest and the following drug-less performance.

Something that, in all fairness, he was ready to do again.

He still didn't know if and what result his last effort have had. Last thing he remembered before glide again in unconsciousness, were Sawyer and Wilson's puzzled expressions, and he had the feeling his attempt had been nothing but vain. However, as shocking as it might sound given the circumstances, he dared to hope somehow they've pulled that one out. He rally wished they had. He was ready to do that again if he had to, but he also really hoped he wouldn't have needed to put himself through that again. They owed it to him. Police had come to him in the very first place, they had to since there was no other way. Then they've asked him something else, something more. Not that he blamed the detective for that, he was doing his job and their goals collided. But he would have been utterly upset, if not offended, by how the cop had chosen to stay faithful to his totem pin in the wrong way. He would have expected the bulldog to mean Sawyer never let his track go, not that he was unable to accept he could be wrong just because he was a stubborn and proud mule-

_Like you?_

Perhaps maybe…hell yes, ok? Then, what was wrong with that? If anything, right because he knew the feeling, the need to be constantly right, he felt like he had all the rights in the world to be judgmental about that.

_Yeah…isn't it a little hypocritical of you?_

_**And what about them?**_ His own voice roared sarcastically against him. _**I've been on Vicodin for years, and they never questioned my logic. They did when I wasn't, now I have to be on drugs against my will and they say they can't trust my answers. Then when I give up on meds to help them, they still fail to believe me because I'm in too much pain. Who is the hypocrite now?**_

_That's different-_

_**It's not. They wanted my mind to be clear from morphine and pain, they can't have both. Not for now.**_

_Just for now?_ His voice teased him evilly. _Are you sure about this?_

No answers. If there was a spot somewhere in his mind, a cell of his brain that knew how to respond, it wasn't brave enough because nothing came. Not even the lamest try.

_What about,_ the mocking voice mumbled again, knowing it had nailed a weak spot. _In, let's say two months? Oh wait, ankle will probably need more to recover, make it three. And you do know how it'll be, don't you? Long, and painful. What about your recover, uh? You'll be in pain, you'll need drugs to deal with the pain and the therapy and once the pain will be gone? If it will, of course._

_**I'll deal with it.**_

_Oh, you can't fool me. I'm you, remember? Just say it. You're scared to death of the aftermath. You might not like how you feel now, the lack of control on your body, the way your reasoning goes as if it has a life on his own. But you're terrified by what will come._

Because he didn't know exactly what it would have come next, and even if he could have, guess it more than anything actually, he knew he didn't like any of the scenarios he could think of. Cons of being a doctor, a damn good doctor, among other things meant he had no chance but knowing what he was about to face. Convalescence, he already knew he sucked at that. Hadn't he failed more than once? After the infarction, after the ketamine all he had needed to do was putting some efforts in therapy and pay attention, but he had blown it, he had failed.

_**But not with the Vicodin, not with detox. I didn't fail with that, I made it.**_

_Good to know, because you'll have to make it again._

_**I don't need detox. I've been clean for over a year.**_

_You're on morphine now, and once you won't anymore that stupid Ibuprofen you've been taking will be like toss a sugar-free candy to a diabetic man. What will you do when you're gonna be discharged, and you won't have wise Wilson administrating morphine for you anymore? What will you do, when you won't have painkillers anymore? How will you handle pain without it? Without your precious Vicodin?_

_**Shut up.**_

_I'm sure we could use one now, right? Just one tiny white pill, to make it all go away. Just one, and the aching pain in our right leg will go away, like good old times. I'm sure it could do something for that soreness in out chest too, not to mention our headache._

_**No.**_

_You know what? You're right. We have broken bones all over, ribs, jaw…we're gonna need way more than one._

_**I said shut up!**_

_Oh c'mon, like you haven't thought about this already! We're smarter than this, aren't we? We might handle the pain for a while, we can blame our injuries at first. What are we going to do when wounds would be healed and we'll have no more excuses?_

_**I'm gonna be good. If injuries heal, I won't need painkillers. I'll have no more pain.**_

_In your body, but what about your mind? We both know pain had never been just in our leg, that it was a bug chewing our mind too_

_**It won't happen again. I won't let it go the same way again.**_

_Why?_

_**Because it's not just about me anymore. There's not just my sorry ass on the line.**_

_So you won't become a drug addict again because of her?_

_**Maybe I will, but I'll can try not to. I will, I want to.**_

_And you think it's enough? Try?_

_**Better than nothing. Better than don't even give it a chance like I used to do.**_

_For the same woman who hasn't shown up yet?_

It might have been weird, it sure was since he was arguing with himself in his own subconscious. But no matter the teasing tone of the voice in his head, clearly trying to get on his nerves, House knew in that moment argument was over and he was the winner. There was no other explanation for that annoying voice to bring that up again, nothing but a desperate attempt to win an argument his own self was designed to lose anyway. And he didn't let it get at him. House knew why Cuddy hadn't come to see him yet, it was his fault after all and he couldn't blame her. If only he had been strong enough to bear it, to accept the woman who loved him and he loved to see him at his lowest everything would have been easier, for once.

But for some reason he had to feel ashamed for something he hadn't done anything to deserve. He dint know where his mind was exactly, lost somewhere halfway between reality and dream, sleep or waking, consciousness and unconsciousness, but wherever it was he couldn't help but slowly and sweetly drift away on Cuddy. Naively maybe, but he could feel it, he could feel her. He just knew her well enough to be sure she was there, somewhere in the hospital keeping the in charge position, she just couldn't help it. If anything, he respected her for that, He had simply always admired her for who she was, and even in that moment he knew the reasons why she should have probably been there with him was the very same one why she couldn't.


	19. Chapter 19

_Many thanks to everybody, if you're still here and reading. Feedback is much appreciated!_

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><p>19<p>

It was a nice sunny day, not too hot to be annoying, but still warm enough to give her a pleasant sensation on her skin. Birds chirping, no clouds in the sky and a light smell of flowers in the air… Why not? Wasn't that a dream, after all? Then why not going big with that?

If dreams were the only oasis she could count on, Cuddy was determined to get the best out of it. Even more, since she knew her sleep wouldn't have lasted long. The very fact she could feel it, was a sign it was about to end. Otherwise, her mind would have focused in giving her dream a more defined shape. A more fulfilling scenario, including House and Rachel as a start, but mostly House. Oh yes, him above all. The moment to wake up was fast approaching, strangely becoming something to take advantage of. She assigned to the awake part of her mind the task to work on her memory, and bring up the vivid and familiar sensations of the deep and transporting intimacy with House. At the same time, she instructed the still half-asleep one to elaborate those feelings, in the most exquisite and hot dream she was capable of.

It worked. As long as it lasted, it was so good Cuddy felt something burn and ache inside her at the same time. And it was too good to be true, as she sadly found out when she woke up for real. It was the worst wake up moment of her life, and she had no doubt about it, starting from the soreness the couch had given her to the dark rainy morning outside the window. Cuddy groaned at the view, then tiredly rolled on her back and tried to stretch her muscles, missing her yoga routine already. Then she tossed the blanket aside, and sat properly on the couch. Sighing, disappointed with herself, she smirked at the unread folder and uneaten food on the coffee table then checked her watch, shocked to find out it was 7.30 am. With the stress, the worries and everything else she hadn't expected to sleep that much, let alone actually rest. She never slept that much, but soon Cuddy found out she shouldn't have been that surprised after all. Above all, she shouldn't have regretted it. Unlike her own expectations, she had slept a long and quiet sleep, a luxury given the situation. She wouldn't have pushed it that far to say she felt good, but at least she felt like she had enough energy to face another day.

An important one indeed, because first thing on her list was going upstairs and see House.

To hell with doubts and fears, she was his girlfriend and she wanted to be at his side. And even if he wasn't ok with that… Well, he wasn't really in the place to tell her not to. With a powerful puff Cuddy stood up, too quickly and suddenly according to her stiffening neck and back. She absently massaged the back of her neck on her way to the private bathroom, while her mind was listing all the things she had to do.

Eager as she was to go see House, she knew the moment she would have looked at herself in the mirror a quick wash and change of clothes would have been added to her list. Then she stopped at her desk to check her emails, both puzzled and relieved there was none. She had been the dean of medicine at PPTH for over a decade, experience had taught her lack of feedback was almost impossible and the total lack of activity in her mail and voice box in the previous 12 hours was nothing but scary. The simple idea her staff might have just wanted to give her a break didn't even cross her mind. Which was why she wasn't really surprised by the knock on the door when she was on her way to the bathroom.

"Dr. Cuddy, I'm sorry to bother you," Nurse Jenny quickly apologized as soon as she was inside.

"It's ok Jenny, don't worry," Cuddy said with a tired smile, waving her hand. "I was…about to start."

Nurse Jenny knew her boss very well, and she had to wonder if she ever actually stopped. Even standing on the door she could see Cuddy's crumbled clothes, the same outfit of the day before, her out-of-place hair an imperfect make up. Years of training with House staring at her body, had taught her how to recognize an exploring glare. Cuddy bit at her bottom lip and tiled her chin up, trying to gain and show some confidence. If she caught the boss's discomfort and passing weaknesses, Jenny didn't show it. More likely she had, but Cuddy was glad and not surprised she purposely chose to ignore it.

"I think you should come at the reception."

Her grave and serious tone added something to the picture Cuddy didn't like. Her grateful smile froze on her lips, and all of sudden Jenny's discreet behave assumed a completely different shape. Washing her face, brushing her teeth and adjust the make-up and clothes seemed all so useless. The only thing that kept her together, and kicked out of her mind the fear House's conditions might have worsened, was the certainty Wilson would have been the designed messenger in that case. Gathering her strength, Cuddy nodded at Jenny then walked to the door and outside her office, her legs feeling weak for a second when she spotted a security guard standing at the reception desk. A weakness increasing when she saw the three men, wearing a sadly familiar outfit, and all of sudden Cuddy decided she hated black shirts with all her heart.

But she also decided the Calaveras had chosen the wrong woman to mess with.

"'Morning," the security guard nodded at her.

_Not really, _she thought, but instead smiled and greeted him back.

"Good morning Roger," she greeted him politely, purposely ignoring the guests. "What can I do for you?"

"Sorry to bother you but this…gentleman," he hissed waving his hand at the person standing in the middle of the trio. "Claims to be Ramiro Cortez."

"You said it as if it was a bad thing," Cortez muttered with a cocky grin, then he gave Cuddy the same evil smirk mixed with a disgusting lustful look. "If you're the boss, I guess you're the one I should talk to."

"Of course Mr. Cortez. I'm at your disposal,"

"I know," he said teasingly, leaning forward on the desk not hiding the way he was staring at her. "My little brother is here."

"Yes. He's been admitted here a couple of days ago," he didn't know how to react, Cuddy saw him looking back at his gorillas and they all chuckled, but she ignored it and cleared her throat. "But I'm afraid you're not allowed to see him now."

"Oh," Cortez mumbled, stepping toward her. "How so, Madam?"

The way he addressed her, so faking polite, was enough to make her vomit. But Cuddy kept it together, gesturing the guard to stay where he was when he motioned to step forward. Instead, Cuddy looked straight at Cortez and wished she could punch him right in his face, and get rid of his innocent expression.

_How so!_ She grumbled in her own mind. _Make a guess, maybe because your__thugs tried to kill my boyfriend because he's curing your brother?_

Of course she didn't say that out loud. But she did make a note to herself to tell Sawyer as soon as possible, and she had no intention to keep her mouth shut either.

"Hospital's policy. His conditions are quite serious, and for patient's benefits we don't allow visitors in these circumstances."

"I see," Cortez muttered, his grin freezing when the guard's hand slowly rested on the holster of the gun. "Too bad."

"But I can assure you we're taking good care of him," Cuddy went on, engaged in a silent fight with an enemy she wished she could unmask right away. "Our best doctors are working on his case. We're doing everything within our abilities."

"I don't doubt that Dr. Cuddy," Cortez huffed, all of sudden almost cheering as he pulled away from her. "I've been told Dr. House is the best one can ask for around here."

The contrast was almost disarming. The inconsistency between the way Cortez pulled back from the dean, and the straight and clear menace of his body echoing in Cuddy's mind like a shrieking high note. The nerves he had! Coming to her reign in plain daylight, openly and shamelessly talking about House. Not just that, Cuddy could smell the menace hidden in his words and she lost her breath somewhere before she remembered the night before she had instructed security to place a guard at House's room. She was close, dangerously close to lose it at the simple idea they could get anywhere near House again. But she had pride on her side, the kind of pride that could be both her strength and limit. Cuddy wouldn't have let him the satisfaction to score that point, not in her hospital, not standing there and feeling the support of people around her waiting for the dean of medicine to make her move.

"He is," she said, boss, doctor and girlfriend answering at the same time.

"So I've heard. I hope his accident won't distract him too much."

_Accident my…you son of a bitch! You better don't push it, or I won't stop Roger next time his hands itch._

"An unfortunate event indeed," Cuddy hissed, her stomach twirling as she saw the evil glances the three guys exchanged. With a crazy thought, she saw the chance to score a point of her own too. "But there's no need to worry. Your brother is still in good hands, Dr. House is supervising the situation and we're confident we'll find a solution soon."

That was wrong, on so many levels she couldn't even count them all. More likely the only true part in her bold statement was that Jaime Cortez was in good hands, and bring House into the picture wasn't the most clever idea ever. If Wilson would have been there, and Cuddy was glad he wasn't given how she was handling the situation, he would have probably warned her going on war path with those people wasn't exactly a smart thing to do. But he wasn't there, and she wouldn't have listened to him anyway. Cortez and his fellows should learn better, she was not easy to intimidate and that if they wanted a fight, however on nerves, she wouldn't have chickened out.

"That's good to hear Dr. Cuddy," Cortez finally said with a small nod, the fake smile back on his face. "For Dr. House's safe too, of course," he stepped back and gestured his fellows to move toward the door, then he stopped and shot Cuddy a last menacing grin. "Bring him my regards, lady. I'd be really upset if something happens to him."

Even a blind man could have seen Cortez couldn't give a damn about House, let alone for his brother. But still, as they walked toward the exit, Cuddy couldn't help but feel relieved. It didn't last long however, that visit had just added many and mostly unpleasant things to do to her list and she tensed up again when Roger stepped close to her.

"We just let them go?" He questioned her, honestly puzzled, nodding at the men going away. "We should call the police."

"Yes, we should. I'm gonna call detective Sawyer, but we can't stop them now," she said, clearly unhappy about that. "They did nothing after all, they just came asking for information. But," she turned back and looked at the guard. "I want everybody to keep their eyes open, control every access and exit and in no case House's room is to be left unattended. Understood?"

Roger fought back the instinct to give her a military gesture of approval, then just took off unhooking the radio from his belt. Cuddy took her time to give Jenny's worried look a reassuring one, then she sighed and shook her head and went back in her office. Once there, as she had done the night before, she closed the door behind her and didn't even turn on the lights, heading straight to the bathroom. She opened the hot water tap and slowly took of her blouse, then looked up in the mirror honestly glad the steam was already blurring the surface. Sighing, Cuddy rolled up the sleeves of her shirt and poured some soap in her hands, switching water on cold before washing her face. It didn't make her feel as good as she had hoped, but at least it was a start. She washed her face, as if she had to scratch layers of dust away from her skin and then looked up again, her hand absently looking for the towel. Instead of going for her face, the towel made its way to the mirror, wiping away the steam and slowly revealing the reflection of her own face.

Her wet crying face.

To see the tears was a painful epiphany, she hadn't felt them on her face till then and she was taken off guard by the view. And everything fell apart, crashing on her like a collapsing building. Fear, pain, impotence, doubts of be inadequate to deal with that, the small confidence she had gained swallowed by Cortez's visit… Why all of that? Was it worth? Fight, keep up the appearances and stay strong if she had no way out, no way of feeling released? She couldn't do that, she couldn't be the boss no matter what, not that time…

Her legs gave up, the invisible weight pushed her down and she fell sitting on the toilet, crying and sobbing with her face buried in her hands. Silently claiming the right to have her heart take the lead over her mind and responsibilities for once.


	20. Chapter 20

Thank you all for giving this story a shot. Feedback are always welcome!

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><p>20<p>

It was raining outside.

He felt it, and he hated it.

Rain was annoying, it meant no fast race with his bike, it always brought that bothering smell of moist and sewer in the kitchen's sink dump. And it always made his wound ache. Of course, that morning rain wasn't the reason his leg was being a bitch. Because of course, he couldn't blame the rain for all the pain in his body.

But it wasn't that bad after all. More than pain, it was actually a diffused background soreness. How so? Was the pain just calming down, or they've simply increased his drugs? No, Wilson was probably too scared to do that again. Hell, he was probably too scared to do anything right then, anything too cautious or risky.

Then what? Was he just, maybe-

_Feeling any better?_

Oh no, not that bugging voice again! Hadn't he kicked it out of his mind the night before? Hadn't he made clear they had, nothing to share?

_C'mon._

C'mon what?

_Don't be lazy, be a good boy._

_Good boy? What was that supposed to be, a joke?_

_Wake up._

Wait…that wasn't his inner voice, it couldn't have been. It was too…caring-

"C'mon House, wake up."

…like only Wilson's one could be.

Tired and already annoyed, House tried to open his eyes, gladly surprised it wasn't as difficult as he had thought. Once they were open, as expected he found his friend hovering above him. With a smile that gave him nausea, but also reassured him, since he knew how a genuine positive James Wilson's smile looked like.

"Good morning sunshine."

Ok, that was probably too much. However, if the oncologist felt like push it that far, the reason he was there for couldn't have been that bad.

"Feeling any better?" He asked again, and after a moment House blinked once, although "better" was a bold statement. "Ok, listen. We checked your lung while you were sedated, and it looks like it's better. So I'm gonna try to estubate you now. But," the oncologist quickly added raising his index. "You'll have to keep the oxygen mask, ok? Breath on your own could still be…uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable. Oh yeah, the good old James Wilson was back on track! Good thing, because that cold and confident approach had almost scared him, while that cautious move was a step back into the reality he was used to. Not that he liked the perspective, let alone been told what to do and how he was supposed to breath. But the possibility to lose the taste of plastic inside his throat, was a real blessing. Therefore, he just gave Wilson a small nod and closed his eyes, waiting for his friend to free his gorge and feeling alive again as fresh air filled his throat after he coughed out.

It didn't last long. House barely had the time to open his eyes again, that Wilson quickly placed the mask on his face. Fresh air was the best option he could ask for, but the oxygen still gave him a nice sensation of clarity and he took in a big breath. Wilson watched him take the first breath on his own, ready to intervene if the simple process would have revealed to be too much difficult. But it didn't seem necessary, and the oncologist couldn't hold back a sigh of relief. As much as he was dying to talk with his friend, Wilson patiently waited. He was glad his friend wasn't rushing things for once in his life, and felt as if he was stealing the moment from someone else.

"Easy, action man," Wilson muttered with a grin as he saw House fidgeting in the bed, his hand already going for the mask. "Don't push it."

"Shut up mom," House groaned ravenously through the mask. "And give me some water."

Wilson grinned satisfied at his friend and nodded, then poured a glass of water and put a straw in it before handling it to House. He fumbled with it but managed to grab it, and the oncologist wasn't really surprised when despite the injuries in his right hand House insisted on do it on his own. _Stubborn idiot!_ The oncologist thought, but he enjoyed the victorious expression on House's face when he conquered the first sip of refreshing water.

"Better?" Wilson asked.

"Bourbon, that would be better," House croaked from the mask, and Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Keep dreaming," he mumbled taking back the glass. "And above all, keep your mouth shut ok?"

"Where's your new buddy?" House asked, clearly ignoring his friend's warning.

"Detective Sawyer called to say they've been able to identify your aggressors thank to the video. Now it's just a matter to track them down," he paused, reading in House's eyes he was waiting for something else too. "And he feels like crap for doubting your answers."

_So are you,_ House immediately thought, but he held back the statement and a grin.

He had to save energies, the few words he had uttered so far had left a real uncomfortable sensation in his throat, the feeling of a grasping hand nailing the inside of his gorge to emerge back to the surface. He wouldn't have called it pain, compared to the rest he had to admit it was more like a tickling itch, but if he had to bear it better save it for another guest.

"When will I be out of here?"

Or for more important questions.

"House, I'm sure you know, or at least you have an idea of your injuries," Wilson huffed shaking his head, somehow not surprised House had gone straight to the point. "It's not like we can give you and aspirin and box of band aids, it's gonna take time. Ok, you want the doctor answer?" The oncologist blurted enlarging his arms, exasperated by his friend's inquiring gaze. "All your injuries will recover, which you know. Fractures will take longer, which you know too. The last cast should be removed in a couple of months…that of course if you do what you're told, follow the orders and don't act like a child."

_Now, where would it be the fun then? _House protested in his mind, rolling his eyes at the oncologist, and the fact he knew his friend couldn't help it didn't make it more acceptable. Of course what he couldn't tell Wilson, was that he was right. House did know that recovery couldn't compare to the previous ones he had been through, giving up on his leg and then not taking his rehab and therapy in Mayfield seriously. He also knew he couldn't screw that one up too. He had spent a sleepless crazy night arguing with himself over that, he had kicked Talking Cricket's evil twin out of his mind defending his spot, and he sure didn't need whining Wilson to state something he had already conquered on his own.

To Wilson's major surprise, House didn't fight back his last statement despite there were dozens of things he could have done, or try to sarcastically protest for being threaded like a baby. None of that happened, either House was tired or he was just skipping the protest part, confident he wouldn't have done what told anyway. Still, Wilson was puzzled to see his friend simply nod, after a long thoughtful stare into the empty space in front of him. Once he had answered, House coughed absently into the mask filling it with breath steam, then he turned his head on the other side. Wilson saw his right hand try to open and close slowly a couple of times, a gesture he knew all too well.

"You're gonna be ok House. It won't be easy, but you won't be on your own- So what?" The oncologist asked then, puzzled by the way House looked at him because of his question. "If it's not about this what are you-"

"Worried about?" He croaked with a peak of sad sarcasm voice, glaring at Wilson through his painful eyes. "You want me to make a list?"

"This isn't about medicine House. You know all too well medically you'll be ok," he oncologist said, and the usual soft reassuring pitch in his voice had been replaced by that suspicious and intrigued one he had every time something on his friend's behave fired up all his warning system, detecting something underneath. Then he just enlarged his arms and shook his head. "House, dealing with your deflection is already hard enough when you're fine. It won't be any easier with you barely talking."

"Why there's a guard," he said, but then stopped to take a deep breath, raging air through the mask and his voice rasping more than ever as he nodded at the silhouette standing on the other side of the closed blinds. "Why there's a guy outside my room?"

"Because," Wilson muttered, clenching his jaw wondering if House was serious with his questions. "You got attacked in your office?"

"You said," House coughed, words coming out tired and difficult. "Police is on it…they," a rough gust of cough caught him, Wilson urged to give him some more water, but instead House went on. "Know who did…why do…I…I need…a-" House's chest raised and fell heavily a couple of times, his hands gripping the sheets to fight back the soreness breathing gave him "-guard…still…if-"

"Ok, first of all you have to calm down House," Wilson urged to say, keeping him down gently but firmly. "And second, you need not to freak out. It's just a precaution, ok? Police knows they were after you, they doubt they could try again. But just in case-"

Words and explanations, however reasonable and true, slowly stopped to come out of his mouth. Mainly because of the absent look on House's face, right before he nodded dismissively at him.

Because it was clear, to both of them, that conversation should have involved someone else.


	21. Chapter 21

_Hello everybody! I will go back to Italy for a week, and I won't be able to post. No worries, the story is just taking a break and will come back soon. Since I had to push the "pause" button, I thought I might leave you on a high note for now. Hope you'll like it!_

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><p>21<p>

_**Oh thank God. Finally!**_

_Don't get all excited._

_**Why? Worried about been proved wrong?**_

_Just saying you should be careful. Wouldn't be the first time our mind tricks us._

_**That's why this is real. This had to be.**_

_Yet, we're not opening our eyes._

"Will you stop do this?" Cuddy's voice teased him sweetly, easing the tone of her words with the soft touch of her fingers on his hand. "Are you really gonna waste this time trying to decide if I'm really here, instead of checking?"

_Ha, one for me!_ House thought, victoriously grinning to himself. Then slowly poked his eyes open, and turned his head into Cuddy's direction. It might have been an annoying rainy day outside, but sun was shining bright for him in his hospital's room. House drugged himself with the view, her beautiful face invading his sight and for a bunch of second the general feeling of soreness just shut down. What her eyes and smiles couldn't accomplish in terms of soothing his beaten being, the soft caress of her hand on the back of his one did, sailing on the small portion of skin left exposed between the medications. Every touch of her hand gave him a little drip of strength, and he was shocked it took him more than a minute to realize no matter his first worry he couldn't care less to be seen like that.

What point, in love and be loved otherwise?

Once he felt sure Cuddy was there for real, House took a deep breath ready to speak. But Cuddy's hand squeezed his in admonishment, while with the free one she kept the mask firmly on his face. With a bit of struggle he added his hand to remove both, but Cuddy showed no sign of caving, and smiled bitterly at the way he grumbled and rolled his eyes.

"Keep the mask on House," she instructed him firmly, but still smiling. "Wilson told me you almost choked yourself. Not that hard to believe, I should say."

"That guy worries way too much," House pointed out with a smirk, then melted his left hand with Cuddy's one and moved them both away, still keeping the mask on.

"That guy happens to be your best friend, and also your doctor," Cuddy insisted, feeling overpowered by the confident grip of his hand, the one she had come to know well, then absently touched his face not seeing the bruises and stitched. "You had a hole in your lung, oxygen mask is still better than a tube right?"

"You know what else would be way, way better?"

His words might had been a little cranky, and his voice too rusted and muffled by the barrier of the mask. But there were no doubts about the meaning of his words, if anything for the mischievous grin coming along with them. At first, Cuddy rolled her eyes, up to him setting his priorities that way in his conditions… But he wouldn't have been House otherwise. She looked at his signed face, his eyes sparkling despite the black circle around one of it, his short beard crossed by scratches, his full lips calling hers despite the cut on the upper one. Biting at her bottom lip, Cuddy looked back above her shoulder, at the closed door and blinds, although she didn't really needed to check or even have the way clear since she already knew exactly what she wanted.

Smiling fondly at him, Cuddy dragged the chair the closest she could to the bed. Seeing her moving, House smiled too and she carefully removed the mask from his mouth. Then, with no further hesitation, Cuddy leaned down on him. At first she gently brushed his lips with a couple of fingers, as if she was tasting their consistence or the sensibility of the cut, then replaced her fingers with her own lips. It was an uncomfortable kiss, his dry lips almost scratching her soft ones, but it didn't really matter. They didn't venture much further, for obvious reasons, but still they were able to savor every drip of it.

To lose the soothing touch of her lips was bad enough, and it got even worse when he was confined into the mask again. However, he lost no chance to be himself, and greedily licked his lips still smiling teasingly at her.

"You taste of toothpaste," he observed, then keenly studied what he could see of her figure. "That's why I had to see Wilson's face as first thing in the morning? Good thing I didn't ask him to kiss me."

"Been busy," she said dismissively, just partially surprised he had noticed her emergency clothes and the quick adjustment to her face and hair. Then she was hit by the reason why she had been forced to do that, and her face darkened all of sudden. "Having a little breakdown."

There, it was out, she had said it. Why not, after all she couldn't deny she had abandoned herself to fear and impotence in the privacy of her office, a new light make up and new clothes hadn't really given her back the confidence she needed. She had lost it, for longer than what she could accept she had been hiding there sitting on the toilet, praying to get a grip on herself, a very long time before she had finally thought about calling Sawyer. That had been the right trigger, once her brain had been back on track Cuddy had remembered Wilson had told her he would have estubate House, then she had changed to go upstairs. But no matter the fresh make up and clothes, no matter her desire to just enjoy be with him, and the promise to herself not to waste it, all her efforts weren't enough to leave her concern unnoticed by House. Despite his condition, he immediately sensed something was bothering her. Not just because of her confession, although that alone spoke for itself, but he could easily see it in every line or her face.

Feeling the need to, wanting to reassure her, House searched for Cuddy's hand and gulped down clearing his throat. At his grip, she looked over at him with a bitter smile, almost shy as he spoke.

"You've seen the video."

It wasn't a question, but a pure statement. And it came so out of the blue Cuddy was glad he took that as the explanation of her discomfort. Other option, the real one, was that House could catch something about the visit Calaveras had paid earlier, and that was the last thing she wanted him to find out. Therefore she just nodded slowly averting her eyes. That wasn't a lie after all, and that video had indeed shaken her to the bones. House registered her silent answer with a small and grave nod, then squeezed her hand and grinned sarcastically when she looked back at him.

"I kicked their asses," he muttered with a grin. "Didn't I?"

Now, how as she supposed to answer that? She knew he wasn't serious, he couldn't have been of course… If that was a lame attempt to do some damage control, and try to have her not freak out…well, it wasn't just lame but also quite late. Was she supposed to say yes House, you did…until the second guy launched you over your desk? Or to laugh to grant him for his joke, or scold him for being such a jerk in every situation?

Surprising both of them, Cuddy did none of the above. For some seconds she just stared at House, and his childishly eyes still sweetly mocking her fishing inside her and him for what to say. And she ended up saying nothing, instead she just bent down on him slowly and rested her face in the crock of his neck, carefully wrapping her right arm around his chest. Puzzled, House had just the time to enjoy the contact of her skin on the two days beard on his neck, that it was brushed away violently by the wetness of her tears. Taken aback, House oddly wrapped his right arms around her careless of the light pain. He opened his mouth to say something, but found himself speechless and just filling the mask of steam with his own breath, one of those rare occasions in his life words didn't come out. And he honestly thought it was better that way. However damaged, he let his body speak. He stiffened and gritted his teeth, but still didn't give up and reached for her as much as he could with his left arm too, his hand slowly caressing her arm around his chest.

And all of sudden, despite he was deeply enjoying that weird and unhealthy intimacy of their own, he realized Cuddy's meltdown had one and only responsible.

"I'm sorry," he started off bubbling his words, then shook his head and removed the mask from his face freeing his mouth to kiss the top of her head, her face still buried in his neck. "I'm sorry…if only I'd been an easier man," he mouthed sipping his air stash carefully. "I wanted you here with me. I know I needed you."

"You make," Cuddy muttered with a painful sigh, then emerged from the crock of his neck. "House, you make impossible for people to worry about you. It's so difficult," she added, lost in her words and barely aware of her gesture when her hand absently went for the mask, putting it back on his face to soothe his struggling breathe. "But I can't use this as an excuse, I wanted to be here with you …I just didn't know how to do it."

"Then how did you come up with the right answer?" House asked in a soft voice, pissed he had still the mask on but using his energies to keep touching her. "You waited…for me to be ready, you knew you had to…couldn't think of a better way."

"Don't give me too much credit," she warned him painfully, resting her cheek on his chest. "I just had enough not to see you."

"Well, that's a good answer too," he teased her with a grin, then sighed and added serious. "I know I'm quite beaten, but I'm pretty sure there's one part of me which is totally fine," Cuddy choked a laugh on his chest then straightened up, glaring at him as if she wanted to be sure he really meant it, but he answered with an apologetically and careless shrug. "What? Just thought you might want to check."

Once again, Cuddy's reaction didn't come by the usual book, but this time she had no hesitation. As House was still finishing his joke, Cuddy bent down on him and took the mask off, kidnapping with a quick but passionate kiss his words. It hurt at first, but House soon forgot about it when the gentle caress of her tongue, combined with the one of her hand on his cheek took the soreness away. He closed his eyes and kissed back, putting aside the pain for later. Even when she pulled back, quite satisfied, he kept smiling like an idiot and she did too putting back the mask on his face. Then his smile spiked up in a grin as he nodded down at his lap.

"I think everything works properly down there," he stated, with a hoarsely voice that had nothing to do with his damaged lung, then added whispering close to her. "I knew it would have responded correctly, with the appropriate stimulation."


	22. Chapter 22

_Back from holidays, a relaxing week in Italy with friends and family. Thank you all for your patience, I hope you appreciated the latest chapter: now that House have Cuddy at his side, things will get better for him. As for this chapter, time to focus a little on the other mystery of this story. Hope you won't get bored._

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><p>22<p>

Walking down the hallway, balancing all items in his hands, was hard enough. In addition to that, Chase was also busy making a mental note to himself, not to volunteer as lunch taker anymore, especially when a female cop stopped him in front of the lab door. The doctor had to wonder if police used to put applicants through an intelligence training, when the officer asked him to show him his I.D badge. That whole security stuff was getting on his nerves. The ups of feeling safe were nothing compared to the down sides of being a prisoner in his own hospital. Already stressed, Chase looked around and placed the team's food on a chair, then took out his badge and showed it to the woman. He rolled his eyes, annoyed when the officer took her time to check his name on the allowed people list, suspiciously comparing him with the photo taken when his hair were still long.

"Ok," she finally announced, and stepped away to clear the way. "You can go."

Grateful, Chase wisely clipped the badge on his lab coat to have it in handy for future requests, then picked up the food again and entered the lab. He shot a deadly glare to Foreman, as the neurologist whined about how long it had taken him to get back with lunch.

"You go next time," Chase grumbled. "If you're lucky, they're going to search you….she might actually enjoy it."

"Yeah, that woman really looks like she's dying to get some action," Taube agreed absently, while fishing in Chase's bag for his lunch.

"She doesn't seem excited about guarding a hospital. I bet she's more familiar with shootings and fights."

"As long as she does her job without bothering mine, I'm ok," Foreman answered Chase while unwrapping his sandwich. "I don't even see why she should be here."

"Because," Masters tried shyly, gulping down nervous for possible reactions to her upcoming words. "We need to be protected."

"No, we don't," the neurologist stated before giving his lunch the first bite, then went on chewing. "It's just Cuddy overreacting."

"This isn't about Cuddy," Taub informed the group with a knowing voice, then nodded at the female cop's large and muscular back. "That's the police's call, Cuddy would have just sent our guards, but apparently police is taking this morning's visit quite seriously."

"You really think she could underestimate something like this?"

After all, Master's question was somehow a legitimate one, or at least it was for her. She was confident in her own abilities, even though House kept challenging them. She thought she was good in observing people, but she wasn't that presumptuous to say she knew Cuddy; but one thing she was sure of, was the dean's ability to value every situation. Sure, she had some doubts about her boss's tastes when it came to men, but the young woman honestly struggled to accept Dr. Cuddy might have misjudged something, especially something that mattered so much to her.

"I think she's worried, for House and for the hospital," Taub quickly answered while studying his food. "And she didn't want things to get worse, or everybody to get even more scared by lining up the troops at full force without a reason."

"But she has a reason," Masters pointed out, although in all fairness Taub's explanation actually fit Cuddy's profile better.

"Cuddy did what she had to. She organized internal security first, and told the police about Cortez's visit," Taub added with a shrug. "The Detective decided we need reinforcements, not Cuddy."

"She never does, and neither does House actually," Chase observed, then took a long sip of his soda with a thoughtful expression. "Never thought you could make a couple out of two such strong individuals."

"I would freak out," Masters jumped in. She was perched on a stool, randomly fingering the fruit salad on her lap, and she didn't seem to notice the three men staring at her. "If my boyfriend got almost killed and lying in a hospital bed, with the same people who attacked him showing up again…and the police," the girl let out a long sigh, absently shaking her head. "They keep forcing House to testify, exposing him over and over, he can't even recover properly…I'd just be a mess but Dr. Cuddy, she's so…and House is too, and insane too. I mean I…I'd be yelling at him to stop being so damn stubborn and take all those risks, And I'll…I just don't get this, I really don't', I just can't-"

Her rambling just faded on its own, slowly but surely. It wasn't supposed to go anywhere anyway, but still Foreman, Chase and Taub found it both amusing and somewhat scaring. They all agreed when it came to grant Masters about her intelligence, but she sure lacked of life knowledge, especially when it came to face bad things. Moreover, she was nothing but clueless about her bosses interaction. To be honest, even before becoming an actual pair, House and Cuddy would have needed a user's guide of their own to be handled. But for everybody's sake and for the good of their jobs, they all hoped she could at least accept - if she wasn't able to get how House and Cuddy were like - that in terms of couple they were simply out of her, however clever, understanding.

Which, by the way, didn't really help them to figure out how to react to her in that moment. The three men were all relieved; when the computer eased their embarrassment, giving a beeping sound and announcing the results of their tests over the cans of paint they had found on Cortez's garage were ready. Eager to take advantage of the distraction provided, Foreman dropped his lunch on the nearest counter and ran to the machine, right on time to pick up the paper coming out of the printer. Remembering all of them, no matter how interesting House and Cuddy's business could be, they still had a sick man to take care of.

"Shit!" The neurologist grunted, clearly disappointed, then he turned around to face the rest of the team. "Negative for heavy metal poison."

The team didn't give him any vocal reaction, but the way they all seemed to lose interest in their food told Foreman they were as disappointed as he was. As expected, the rotten apple proved to be a dead end. The only exciting part about the bug Taub had found, had been killing it to get an accurate examination; and once they've had to decide whether to confirm their real theory first, or try the mold path, they've eventually chose the heavy metal poison. After all, it had been their first and strongest guess, hoping they wouldn't have needed to try the mold at all. Then, that stinky trace was their only option for the time being. And Foreman was almost sure it wouldn't have lead them to anything.

Which actually ended up lighting a bright bulb in his head.

"We're missing something," he said in a low voice, almost to himself and forcing Masters to lean forward to catch his words.

"We checked everything. We did every test we could think of," Chase said with a painful moan and shaking his head. "We can't be missing something, Cortez's conditions haven't changed-"

"That's the point, the neurologist insisted with a renewed energy, stepping forward. "He's been here for three days, he's been admitted with chronic fatigue, joint paint and insomnia and symptoms haven't changed. What if we just got the wrong head start?"

"You know Foreman," Taub cut him off a bit stressed. "I get you like play House when he's not around, but mind to give us some more clues?"

"Cortez didn't get any better, not even with antibiotic. But he didn't get any worse either, and it doesn't seem like something is about to change any time soon-"

"-if his conditions hadn't changed, it might mean the cause is environmental," Masters muttered jumping in, with a tentative voice soon swallowed by Chase's steadier intervention.

"We took him out of his usual environment. Whatever the cause is, here in the hospital he's away from it," he explained to his coworkers, and they all nodded, then Taub jumped down of his stool.

"Could be an allergy. We haven't considered this possibility yet."

"Because it doesn't fit the symptoms," Masters pointed out then, killing the mood and insisting on it too. "We can't follow a lead just because we wish it's right."

"We might, that's the point." Foreman tried to insist. "We can't be sure it doesn't fit, not until we find out what he's allergic at for sure."

"But we can't just go random-"

"Maybe we should check his place again," Chase suggested, standing up and ignoring Masters. "We know better what to look for."

"Allergy is a hard guess."

"Good, I'll do the allergic tests in the meantime," Taub offered looking over at Foreman.

"For what for? If it's an unusual allergy regular test won't-"

"Ok, at least we'll be able to run out something while I search again," the neurologist said, once again as if Masters wasn't even in the room.

"You didn't find anything leading to allergy the first time. Why would-"

"It has to be something strange, or we would have noticed it the first time," Taub added, then his face lightened up all of sudden and he looked over at Foreman and Chase. "Could be a still unknown allergic reaction."

"House would just love it," Chase muttered with a chuckle, and the two men did too nodding at each other. "But we can't pick something based on this."

"Thank God someone's coming back to reason!"

"Wilson told me House is feeling better now. He's not intubate anymore and he can talk," Chase started over again, still carrying on a conversation that didn't seem to include Masters. "Maybe we can ask his opinion about this."

"What?" Masters almost yelled jumping off the stool, but not even her raised voice seemed to earn her partner's attention. "The man can barely hold it together."

"Could be a nice distraction for him," Foreman muttered thoughtful, holding his chin with one hand. "If he's awake, working on the case could help as much as painkillers to lift up his spirit."

"He's a work addict," Taub shrugged in agreement. "I guess he'd be glad to have something to think about other, than his pain."

"We can't go in there and ask him to work. He's not-"

"But we should go to him with something more, something stronger," the neurologist smirked, picturing his boss not giving up on mocking them no matter what. "Or at least, with all the other options ruled out for good."

Both Chase and Taub folded their arms, thoughtful, exchanging questioning and unsure gazes. That wasn't an easy call, they didn't like to run to House to get a lead declaring no matter how many thinking heads in the team they still needed him. The perspective to bug him with their incompetence, in his condition, didn't appeal to any of them. They did believe the case would have lightened up House's recovery, but none of them was inspired by the perspective to be yelled at by a man in a hospital bed. Not to mention Cuddy's factor; her reaction scared the hell out of them. Nevertheless, the deep and prolonged silence they were sharing, partly broken by Master's random and shy guttural sounds of shock and protest to their attitude, soon proved them they had to try it.

"I'll analyze the mold," Foreman finally said breaking the silence.

"We'll do the allergic tests," Taub offered waving one hand at himself and Chase, who nodded.

"Let's try to rule out everything else before go for House."

"Maybe we can," this time, finally, when Masters spoke the guys seemed to realize she was still in the room. They looked over at her, all rolling their eyes sensing a new moral wave was about to hit them. "It's just a suggestion, of course, but…I mean," she sighed and closed her eyes, gathering her strength. "If you really want to go for this allergy idea and don't get mocked by House, you might want to check that old book about rare allergies House keeps in his office."

"What?" Taub questioned stepping toward her, intrigued and suspicious at the same time. "What book?"

"The one from his private collection. I …I might have," to their amusement, Masters turned red like a mature pepper. Her whole being setting in fire with guilt and shame as she looked down, her hands nervously tormenting the fashion tie around her neck. "I might have…given a look at his books, he has… I mean, he has so many rare and special old medicine volumes! I just thought I could…a little peak now and then would have helped me-"

"This book," Chase gently tried to cut her off. He could tell she was about to breakdown, for what she sure thought be a death sentence worthy crime, and last thing they could afford was a melting down spoiled baby genius. "Where is it?"

"It was," she took a deep breath, and Taub rolled his eyes when she sobbed again. "He keeps it on the cabinet behind his desk. I don't know if police took it."

"Ok," Chase huffed, he really thought he should have tried to comfort her but the situation was honestly paradoxical. Therefore, he turned back toward Foreman and Taub. "You'll do the mold, Taub the allergy test and we'll talk to the police to get that book," he then looked back at Masters, who was about to cry and choke in her own hiccups. "After a quick stop at the restroom, I guess."

And before he could say anything, both Foreman and Taub ran out of the lab, stumbling on the female cop and eager not to deal with a crying Masters.


	23. Chapter 23

_There is a lot going on in this story, hope it's not too much and it doesn't get confusing. Thank you all for keep reading._

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><p>23<p>

"Easy, just go easy House!" Wilson yelled again, doing his best to slow down his friend. "I swear to God, I'm going to strap you to this bed."

"I just want to sit down," House whined childishly, growling out words. "It's not like I'm asking you to go out for a run."

"And I told you I'll let you sit down. Just don't rush it."

"My back is sore, and my ass itches," House stated with a grunt inside the mask, glaring at him. "If you want to take care of that on your own, be my guest."

"I don't want to. And you'd never let me, anyway," the oncologist pointed out, earning an approving smirk from his friend. "So unless you want me to call Jeffrey to do it, be a good boy. Got it?"

Maybe it was the fact Wilson managed not to say such thing as "let me help you", or "you can't do this alone", or maybe it was his lack of delicacy. Or, more likely, it was the disgusting yet effective menace to bring in the most annoying nurse ever, but eventually House relaxed in the bed and nodded. Satisfied, Wilson nodded back and moved the lifting hook closer. With some struggle and a smirk, House reached for it with both hands and pulled himself up, while the oncologist maneuvered to help him in a sitting position. The oncologist's hands were on their way to adjust the pillows behind House's back, but he protested and tried to fight them back. Rolling his eyes, Wilson stepped back but kept staring at House with a knowing face, sadistically chuckling when as expected his friend realized he wasn't able to do that himself. He couldn't deny it, when House finally grunted and absently waved his left hand asking for help, Wilson felt a thrill of victory all over his body.

Satisfied, but trying not to show it, Wilson took care of the pillows, then watched House found the most comfortable position like a weary cat pawing a brand new pillow. As soon as he was sitting, his back straight up like the mainmast of a ship, House immediately felt two things. He felt dizzy, he'd been lying there staring at the ceiling for two days, and the sudden vertical and higher point of view was an abrupt change. As soon as he was settled his breath got cut, and a light panic attack forced him to close his eyes and get a grip. Glad Wilson didn't do anything, House focused on slowing his breath and calm down, concentrating on the second feeling on the list.

Sat on his own ass and keep his back straight, didn't disturb him as much as he had expected. But instead of feeling relieved by the lack of soreness, he tried to catch a glimpse of the dosage of his meds, and grunted when he couldn't. He needed to know, he had to know if the pain was fading on its own, because he was really feeling better, or because of the morphine. He really needed it, but not enough to let Wilson know what he was really worried about. He couldn't let himself getting crazy about something he couldn't control yet, and that for the time being had still more pros than cons.

He was still wearing the mask, and couldn't entirely breathe on his own. He could barely move and had to pee in a plastic bag, his muscles and limbs all hurt, but there still was one thing that didn't cause him any pain. At least not a physical one, not that aching soreness he couldn't wait to get rid of, an activity he couldn't have stopped himself from doing not even if he had tried.

"What's up with Cuddy?" He asked then, causing Wilson's grip on the glass he was handling him to clench and some water to drop on House, who snorted. "I'm not gonna let you sponge me."

"Are you serious?" The oncologist asked, shocked when House took the glass and shrugged absently as if didn't really see the point in being so puzzled. Then Wilson frowned and folded his arms, with a prig look all over his face. "Well, maybe she's upset because you almost died, bullies attacked you in your office jeopardizing hospital's safety, but… Hei, who knows?" he exclaimed mockingly. "But maybe I'm wrong, and mine is just an hard guess."

"I'm not that screwed up Wilson," House protested, hissing through his teeth, then his face softened in the way it usually did when his mind drifted to Cuddy. "She was upset when she came here, and I could tell it wasn't about the match I had in my office."

_Of course you could!_ Wilson thought, quickly biting at his lip. He didn't want to go there, after her visit to him Cuddy had been pretty clear she didn't want House to know about her encounter with Cortez. House could be careless most of the time ,and about lot of things. But the oncologist was sure, to know the same guys who had come after him had not so covertly let Cuddy know they were keeping an eye on what was going on in the hospital, wouldn't have left him untouched. Sighing and watching House almost choke with the water because, Wilson actually wondered about telling him, but soon he realized what a chain reaction it would have set up.

House would have probably pretended it wasn't a big deal at first, but of course he would have kept chewing the thought on his own. To save Wilson's sorry ass, he would have denied with Cuddy if…when she would have noticed, and that would have ended up generating one of their familiar spiral of subtle non communication, hence in misunderstanding and unwelcome stress. Then of course, there was another possible outcome involving him: Cuddy would have been mad at him for telling House something he wasn't supposed to know, and House would have been pissed at him for not telling him before.

All in all, his best option was to keep his mouth shut, and let them deal with it on their own way. At least they would have enjoyed the time they could spend together, no matter the fact they couldn't have the kind of intimacy they were starving for.

"There's a cop outside of my room," House said then in a low voice, gently lulling the glass in his hand and looking down at it.

_Shit!_ Wilson thought clenching his jaw. He clearly had forgotten how poignant his friend's observation could be, no matter what. Swallowing down to gain some time, Wilson could still feel House's eyes digging in the back of his neck, and he hoped his friend could just drop it. But House was like and animal, he could smell secrets and unsaid things from a far distance, and even with one eye still swollen he wasn't used to miss details.

"This morning when you woke me up, it was just one of our security guard," House mumbled then, looking up at him with a motionless expression. "The one out there carries the radio on the shoulder, not on the belt like our guys. So, I have to assume something has changed. Oh, c'mon Wilson!" He blurted with a strange laugh, then winked at his friend with an accomplice voice. "Don't worry about Cuddy cutting your balls for telling me. She's busy enough with mine."

"Don't," the oncologist tried to cut him off, taking back the glass from House's hands wondering if he's had somehow convinced Cuddy to slip him some bourbon. "House, don't you think, sometimes, maybe…there are things you really shouldn't know?"

"Have we met?" House snorted. "So far, knowing things is the only thing I can do. And since you and Cuddy both seem eager to keep it from me, I can only assume it's about me."

"Never said it wasn't," Wilson huffed out nonchalantly, an honest and blunt confession that took House off guard. Then the oncologist dumped himself on a chair and dropped his hands on his lap, grinning at him. "Just saying you shouldn't know."

At first, House thought his friend was jerking him around, with that smug grin all over his face and his attempt to drag him on a dangerous ground. But then, he smiled back, gratitude taking the lead along with the familiar feeling screwing with his best friend always gave him.

"Which is exactly why you should tell me," he teased then, smirking at Wilson. "You think I should know, that's the point. You want me to know, you're just chickening out because you don't want to be the one who spill the guts."

"You're not tricking me into this House," Wilson warned him with one finger pointed straight. "And I can run out of here whenever I-"

What came out of House's mouth all of sudden, was the spot on imitation of a chicken screaming as if someone was about to cut his head off, so loud and clear Wilson had to turn around and check the cop's , scared he could storm in with gun in his hand. It didn't happen, but then Wilson looked over at House still wishing something could happen right then to save him.

Because the smug smile on House's face wasn't about him hiding, or play a game anymore. What was on his friend's lips, was that obnoxious and unnerving victory smile of someone who knew he was about to score.

"They came back, right?"

House's non questioning-question didn't really surprised him. He had seen it coming after all, and he fact House had figured it all out on his own wasn't exactly hard to believe. What did take Wilson off guard, was the lack of the victory grin on his friend's face when he checked again, replaced by a serious and almost worried one, which made impossible for the oncologist to keep his mouth shut anymore.

"Your patient's brother came here this morning," he finally said, already hearing Cuddy's shrieking voice yelling in his ears. "With a couple of friends. Cuddy had to deal with them," he added then, extremely careful. "They asked about you, they were clearly trying to intimidate her and let us know they're still-"

The oncologist had to stop his rushing flow of words, when the absent and thoughtful expression on House's face had him wonder if he was still listening. And the pause he was forced to, actually had him give a deeper thought to his own words. Had he just really told House, some gangsters who had recently beaten the crap out of him had showed up again facing his girlfriend? What the fuck was he thinking? Couldn't have he just told him they've asked for information? _There he goes,_ Wilson thought, watching House absently toying the hem of his hospital gown. _Now he's thinking about it, he's worried for Cuddy being exposed. He's probably wondering she should get some watchful eye for herself too…oh man, he's probably beating himself up because he can't do anything about it-_

"They asked…about me?" House asked then, thoughtful as he looked up at Wilson. "They came here, and they didn't ask about the patient?"

"That's what Cuddy said," Wilson said, curios about his friend's question to the point he leaned forward resting his arms on his knees. "What?"

"They came after me to tell me not to cure the guy," House mumbled to himself, and Wilson could swear his friend was picturing his familiar whiteboard in front of him. "Then they came back, exposing themselves in the light of the day while police is all over the place, and they don't even ask about the patient, the reason why they claim to be here?"

"I guess they just," Wilson shyly tried to participate, feeling like Watson's dumbest twin. "Wanted to put pressure."

"Yeah, and I bet they'd also like to stay out of jail," he added, earning a small nod from Wilson, as to say he was carefully following his reasoning. "Wouldn't have you at least pretend to be interested in your brother's health, if anything to have some smoke to throw at police's eyes and distract them?"

"So you're saying," the oncologist tried to step in. "We should tell Sawyer he has to dig in these guy's personal issues, in order to find out why they're trying to kill each other?"

"Oh Wilson. Didn't mommy tell you playing detective it too dangerous?" House mocked him with a small laugh, then scoffed at himself. "I'm saying," he added with a low yet confident voice, absently and oddly brushing his lips with his right hand. "We should dig in these guy's business, because that might be where the diagnosis hides."

That said he looked at Wilson, ignoring the not so happy expression on his friend's face, who clearly didn't like the light sparkling up in those suddenly alive blue eyes.

And he liked even less what came next.

"Call my team," House said with no doubt in his voice, then touched his right temple. "This one need a little bit of therapy."


	24. Chapter 24

_What about a little Huddy moment?_

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><p>24<p>

It was one of the most fulfilling and rich feeling ever. Thousands times sweeter than a kiss: more intimate than one of those delicate caresses that sometimes made him forgot about the rough beard on his face: more powerful and overwhelming than actual sex.

Not that there was something wrong about sex, of course. He loved sex, and especially sex with Cuddy, and it itched thinking about how long they had to wait before having each other again. Either he was getting older or simply wiser, but if someone would have asked, he would have traded sex with Cuddy with the satisfying sensation watching her sleep gave him.

It was early afternoon. He had let Wilson do an x-ray to check the condition of his lung, and the tube was gone. As usual, Cuddy's duties as dean of medicine had kept her busy for the rest of the morning, and House had wondered how come nobody seemed to even try to give her a break. Finally, like a miracle, she had managed to sneak in his room around lunch time. At first, she had scared him. He had almost choked on his chocolate pudding, thinking Cuddy was there to yell at him her disapproval for the DDX he had staged in his room behind her back. But then, he had thought she was there to unleash her frustration for Wilson's pathological tendency to spill the guts, about almost everything. But while he was still busy shaping a defense strategy in his mind, he had noticed the take away salad in her hand. And he had realized with a smile, she actually looked like a bandit seeking for a safe place where to hide.

And House was glad to know he could be that place for her.

Then she had dragged a chair close to the bed, sat down and engaged him on a silly argument on who was having the worst food PPTH could offer. Cuddy hadn't asked him how he was feeling, how the pain was or of he needed something. Instead, she had just been sitting there having lunch with him. It hadn't last long, the moment she had started to drift into sleep, House hadn't tried to keep her awake. In the last months he had come to know everything about Cuddy's sleeps, and he had easily spotted the "Thank God I can finally lose it up a little and relax" one coming. He had kept his mouth shut, watching the ritual. She had toyed off her shoes and bent her legs curling on the small armchair, enjoying how she had absently massaged her head before dropping her hands on her lap, her head falling on her chest till sleep had finally caught her.

He just loved that, he loved that woman no matter what she did. Lisa Cuddy was a concentrate of energy and authority, exploding power and balanced control. Even if he was well aware men all over the hospital envied him for his privilege to get down and dirty with the unattainable dean, House truly believed one of the most amazing thing in their relationship was to see her like that. Her guards completely down, when she wasn't the boss or the doctor anymore, but just the woman.

His woman.

It had been months, more than how many he could think of without doubting the numbers., Finally though, he had come to terms with his accomplishment. And from there, from that hospital bed wrapped in cast and bandages, unable to stretch his arm and touch her, he was feeling so terribly close to lose her. Because in the upcoming future he would have needed her in a way he hated to need people, and that wasn't the only thing that scared him.

Between Wilson, the team and Cuddy's visits, he haven't had much time alone. That hadn't prevented him from trying to give a proper look to the drug dispenser, still pumping morphine in his system. The response had given him mixed feelings, The dosage was actually lower than what he had expected, but he couldn't know if Wilson had toned it down or not. He did know he felt less numb and tired, pain and soreness weren't as bad, and he was now breathing on his own. However, all those good signs were compromised by his congenital inability to look at the bright side.

Truth was, he didn't want to be on drugs. But he didn't want to be in pain either. House was no fool, and he knew he couldn't have them both, and a part of him would have chosen pain over drugs in the blink of an eye. The part of him who had entered Mayfield more than a year before. The part of him who couldn't trust himself any more back then, right in that moment was doing a pretty good job convincing him no matter how bad the pain was, aside from the one in his right leg, it would have eventually gone away.

And he'd rather be the man in pain with company for a while, rather than the lonely painless addict for the rest of his life.

As if she had just been touched by the force of his decision, Cuddy quietly stirred on her position, moaning and yawning as she slowly moved on the seat and finally opened her eyes. First thing she did was smiling at him, far from being embarrassed for having fallen asleep in front of him. Then she sat up straight and leaned toward him, glad his now sitting position allowed her a better access to him.

"Good nap?" He asked with a smirk as she caressed his face.

"Did you have fun watching?" She teased back, and he rolled her eyes.

"Actually I did," he whispered in her face, then took her hand and gently rubbed the back of it. "I was thinking…you should bring Rachel here."

Cuddy was nothing but appalled by his suggestion. It really came out of nowhere, and of all the things he could have said that was the last one she could have thought of. Not to mention, as she stared at him trying to figure out where that came from, of the thousands of reasons she could have thought of, the real one wasn't her favorite one. Not that she seriously expected him to say he was…what? Missing her daughter, maybe? No, but Cuddy did believe he had a genuine and shy desire not to keep her apart from her child so long. Given how well she knew him, Cuddy could expect a "you should go home and get some rest" speech. But the more she looked at him, the less she thought that was his point. If anything, she realized, she was actually suggesting the opposite. Then she finally got it. Cuddy bit at her bottom lip when he didn't back off from her questioning gaze, and she promised herself to find 10 minutes in her afternoon schedule to kill a certain oncologist.

"Leave the guy alone, not his fault," House said then touching her hand, he smiled at her "stop read my mind" look, but then became serious again. "I can't…protect you Cuddy," he confessed, choking on his words. "Not from here…let's be honest, I probably couldn't anyway."

"House, you're my boyfriend. Not my bodyguard."

"But I want at least to know you're safe," he insisted, ignoring her interruption. "I don't know if these guys know about us, and could use this information to put pressure on me or the team. I'm not sure I even care. But you're the boss, and that makes you a target anyway. Here," he said again, this time gently and firmly holding her hand. "There are a lot of people watching after you, no matter what. It's safer for you and Rachel."

"House I don't," Cuddy didn't lose the grip of his hand, and neither the eye contact with him, but didn't even soften her gaze at his words. "To drag her here, for who knows how many days till this story is over, with all the tension-"

"And what's the other option? Leave her at home with Marina, and you here constantly worried?" Damn, she hated it when he made good points! "Or what, a couple of cops parked outside your place? Like that could actually work better."

Of course, he was right. Cuddy had thought about Rachel being in danger since from when she had seen Cortez in the hall, but in the vortex of thoughts she hadn't really known what to do. Like House, she couldn't see Black Calaveras pushing it that far, but they've already proven to be unscrupulous. Still, she didn't like the feelings that possibility sent through her system. And even less, she could picture herself trying to convince Marina she shouldn't have worried for the police car parked on the street. Strange thing with police, they could indeed make you feel safer as they were supposed to: but since they've come to the point to actually need the police to keep an eye on, feeling safe was quite an oxymoron.

Sighing, defeated by his simple yet strong reasoning, Cuddy squeezed his wounded hand gently and brought it up to her mouth. She kissed it softly, like she used to kiss Rachel's boo-oos to make them all better. Then held it up and huffed out her fatigue and stress, to get rid of them and deliver a genuine smile to him.

"If you're not able to protect us as you claim," she asked then. "how can you do it so well?"

"I'm chained to this bed Cuddy. All I can do is thinking," he tried to demean himself, but she wasn't willing to let him do that.

"Yet, from here you think about us. You didn't back off when Sawyer needed your help, and without your effort he wouldn't be out there chasing your attackers," to her major surprise, Cuddy saw him blush slightly despite the bruises on his face. The grip of his hand fidgeted, his chest imperceptibly swollen with relief and a hint of pride. "And someone told me you've had a meeting with your team to discuss your case."

"Running a DDX behind your back, when I'm supposed to be resting?" House questioned her mockingly, faking offense and then pouting. "I'm insulted Cuddy! Doesn't really sound like me. And I don't have a whiteboard in my pants. I'm just happy to see you!"

Cuddy chuckled softly, and carefully leaned on him, caressing his swollen cheek so gently it barely bothered him. And sure House didn't give a damn when she came into him for a kiss. It started as a tentative one at first, more to keep his own distress under control, but then House couldn't help himself and deepened it reaching the best he could for the back of Cuddy's head with his right hand to pull her closer. The only thing he could have asked for more in that moment, was being able to stand on his feet and hold Cuddy in his arms, held her thigh and gently. And that simple yet starving desire, instead of depressing him for his inability to accomplish such a simple task, proved him how bad he wanted to be able to do it again. And work his ass out about it if he had to.

But he whipped the evidence of his resolute epiphany away from his lips, as soon as he caught in her teasing smile the hint their conversation over his working escapade wasn't over. As much as he didn't like the perspective of being bossed about it, he liked even less the idea Cuddy could get hold of his propositions before he could shape them properly. Then he quickly gave her his best pouting face, to show her he didn't like been kept apart from his duty just like her.

"What do you want me to say?" He shrugged, resigned as a deluded father could have been. "They're lost without me."

"Yeah, you're the genius doctor and they need you to show them the light. I get it," Cuddy cut him off dismissively, causing his jaw to clench in a sardonic smirk. "Listen, I don't want to deal with your team. They're all tensed when I'm around without you, and they're on their tiptoes even more than usual, so just update me ok?"

"You really need to get more sleep Cuddy, you're peachy," he snarled, then sighed and shook his head. "There's nothing much to say actually. They had some leads, and they blew them all out. Now there's one left on the table, thanks to Masters…oh, by the way!" He announced, triumphantly holding up his index. "I was right, she digs in my stuff-"

"Case House," Cuddy warned calling him back to order. "Focus on the case, please."

"God you really like that girl," he grumbled his protest. "They think of a rare allergy. They'll search the patient's place again, and I asked them to get some photos. It's kind of hard to get in the game with nothing concrete."

"Poor you," Cuddy mocked him, yet secretly glad he could use some harmless distraction. Then she sighed and touched his forehead gently, absently looking at the bump on it while speaking. "Just…don't push it too hard ok? Kids have to grow up, and get things down on their own eventually."

"Masters might be our kid, I grant you just that one," he stated, glad for her discreet way to look after him and making him feel like he was taken care of, without being obnoxiously treated like a child.

Then he caught her eyes glance at the watch, and rolled his eyes. Honestly, he loved how she could keep everything in mind at the same time. Sighing, House let go off her hand but gave it a last touch, smiling at her guilty and apologizing gaze.

"Go," he just said. "You have to call Marina, before whatever other thing you have to take care of."

Smiling grateful at him, Cuddy gave him a quick kiss. She knew when he was dismissive like that, and apparently careless, he just didn't want to drag her departure any further and she was ok with that. Silent, glad sometimes words between them weren't necessary, Cuddy stood up and left the room bringing along with her the remains of her lunch.

Leaving House peacefully alone, and with one thing less to worry about.


	25. Chapter 25

_I know it's short, but it will work better with the following chapter. The perks of coming back at things after a while, I suppose._

* * *

><p>25<p>

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Wilson asked while standing at her side, following Cuddy's gaze to House's room, crowded with his team.

"Better than sit on his ass and dwell on the pain," Cuddy answered quickly, then sighed and glanced back at him for a moment, before looking at the room again. "Actually, anything is better than that."

"I was actually talking about Rachel camping in the doctor's lounge for the night," the oncologist muttered, then folded his arms and hinted at her. "Almost doesn't sound like your idea."

To his surprise and amusement, Wilson heard the dean of medicine produce a quite funny hoarse sound with her mouth as she pursued her lips together. Then she turned around, and gave him an annoyed look. He was still waiting for her to say something, but instead she took off, heading away from her vantage point and toward the elevator, immediately followed by a curios Wilson.

"No answer?" He asked. "No snarky remark?"

"Why, you miss them?" Cuddy shoot back, looking at her phone while composing a text message. "Or maybe you'd like me to," she went on, her eyes and one hand on the phone while the other one pushed the call button for the elevator. "To point out the idea to have Rachel here came from House, after you told him Cortez came here?"

Wilson felt his legs a little woody at her words. Not that he had really thought he could have gotten away with it, then Cuddy shook her head widely waging her hair. Seeing his mouth opening slightly, Cuddy gave him a warning glare daring him to protest then, to her own surprise, the oncologist's face relaxed in a small smile.

"How do you two do it?" He asked as he stepped inside the elevator with Cuddy. "He's down, you're down. He gets stronger, you get stronger. You're a couple of…sick vampires."

"I don't see the problem Wilson. We just try to help each other."

"I don't doubt that," he muttered again, looking anywhere but at her. "I was just thinking, for better or for worst you two attract so many energy I have to wonder if there isn't an emotionally exhausted couple somewhere else."

"Are you trying to make us feel bad because we get each other?"

"I'm saying you're lucky," Wilson stated, glad it was just the two of them in the elevator as he added. "Whatever connection or way to be there for each other you have…I don't know how it works, but it does. And it's good to know because you'll need it all."

She had done with the texting already, but even if she hadn't Wilson's words would have sure caused her to stop doing that. The dean of medicine looked at the man, the friend who had been there in her and House's darkest moments helping both, the same who claimed not to know how to handle them sometimes. And she felt suddenly ashamed of herself. They almost never involved him in their relationship when it came to good things, after all nobody feels the need to talk when there's nothing wrong. Even in their first day together, after the collapsed crane, they've cut him out. It had been House at first, but she had played along and from that moment, Wilson had become the one they could rely on when the road got bumpy. It wasn't fair to him. They did return the favor when they could, but it wasn't fair he had become an expert in dealing with their issues. Even more, because he could do it so well and spot on, with no fear to tell what needed to be said like he had just done.

"It doesn't have," Cuddy sighed with her head down, absently twirling the phone in her hands. "It doesn't necessary have to be so hard, you know."

Wilson's heart cringed at her words. He didn't expect her to be naïve, and think House's recovery might had been a pleasant walk in the park. But it was exactly what he caught in her voice. Hope, maybe a little blind, but sincere hope she could be strong enough to stay at House's side. Wilson didn't doubt that, he knew Cuddy all too well, but his main concern was about House himself. He wanted to tell that to Cuddy, the oncologist really felt he had to be sure she wasn't deluding herself just because House was feeling better and up to work, but she took him off guard when she spoke again.

"He went to hell and back. He's been in dark and lonely places all by himself, and he came back," Cuddy said, confident and bravely looking at him. "And look at him now, in his hospital room surrounded by his team. A couple of years ago he wouldn't have never accepted that, being seen by them in his conditions."

"It's different Cuddy," he warned her softly, almost pitying her. But she smiled at him, sadly and fiercely.

"It's a start Wilson," she said then with no hesitation. "It's a start."


	26. Chapter 26

_There are some things you just can't stop..._

* * *

><p>26<p>

_I shouldn't be here. None of us should be here. Ok maybe they should be here, but not me. They don't even want me here…he doesn't want me around, for sure. I can't believe he really called us, again. I should have said no, I should have told them I needed to finish my research on the book. Or not, I mean…oh no I couldn't, that would have been like lying and I don't lie. But I don't want to be here, this is not right. He's supposed to rest and stay calm, not working on a case that's dangerous for him. And look at him! Oh God, look at his face, he can't even keep his eye open. How am I supposed to focus on the patient? I'm hungry, sleep deprived, I feel a prisoner and I'm scared to go to the restroom on my own. I can't worry about our patient too. He should be left alone, poor man…oh no! I can't keep staring at him this way, I have to look somewhere else. God, the right side of his face is all red and swollen. It looks like they've bid a hole in his cheek, there's should be a deep cut inside his mouth. No, no, no, no…I have to stop looking at him, if I keep staring he'll notice. But it's so hard, it's creepy but also…fascinating… Oh no, he just looked in my direction! I have to get the hell out of here. What if he says something about his book? Does he know I search his stuff? He's House, of course he knows. He's going to be mad, he'll fire me again and I'll have to stick around to be hired back-_

When her rant finally switched from simple uneasiness to total and uncontrolled paranoia, Masters eventually lost track of the conversation. To be honest she hadn't exactly followed it since from the start, since from when Taub had come looking for her to announce they were needed by House. She hadn't like it, the first time they've seen him to expose to the boss their remaining theories, she had somehow managed to avoid the visit. But despite her plans, she hadn't been able to avoid the second call too.

They've talked with the police, it had taken them a couple of hours and countless forms to sign, along with an escorted trip to evidence's storage, to get House's book back. Taub's test for common allergy had come back negative, and however disgusting the mold had ended up being nothing but a hole in the water. With tails in between their legs, they've gone to House. But only after a quick consultation with Wilson who, according to Foreman's story, had been quite pleased to be involved and ready to mock them as predicted.

What they haven't been able to anticipate, had been House's calm approach. After the first couple of jokes, he had quietly listened to them, their past and future's strategies. He had given them his bless on pursuing the rare allergy's path, which seemed to intrigue him, but he had also sent them to Cortez's place again with a blurred mission. But the clear order to get him photos of the "crime scene."

"Who took these?" House blurted then, blinking to rest his eyes tired by the long staring at the laptop screen. "There's four photos of the same fucking handle!"

"I thought," Chase muttered, deeply embarrassed. "I thought you'd like details."

"Of important things, you idiot!" He snarled again with his eyes always on the computer, the pinkie of his right hand pushing the button to view yet another pic. "There you go! A fifth one! Chase, do you have a handle fetishism?"

The Australian doctor looked down at his feet, but that didn't prevent him from hearing the amused chuckle coming from his coworkers.

"Anything new?" House asked then, still skipping through the pictures.

"You don't want to watch all the photos first?" Foreman asked.

"I'm good at multitasking," House said flatly. "There's 500 something pics here, and I'm barely at the first room. If I take my time to watch them all, I might end up being discharged first. So," he huffed watching yet another image of a cereal box. "Anything new?"

"He's been showing some memory issues," the neurologist finally answered. "Struggling with short memory mainly."

"And?"

"Nothing else," Taub said.

"So…chronic fatigue, joint pain," House mumbled absently, at the same time bored and amazed by the amount of useless pictures Chase had taken. "I'm surprised lupus didn't come to the plate."

There was a deep silence in the room, a total lack of sounds it was almost deafening, and House didn't fail to notice. With a questioning expression, he finally left the screen and looked up at his team, roosters on the front and the hen carefully on the second line. Or, to better say, the guys fighting back laughs and the girl who looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her.

"She did," House said then, unable to hide the large smile forming on his lips. "Oh please tell me she did!" He begged joining his hands. "I have a bet with Cuddy on this!"

Answer wasn't really necessary after all, Masters hiding and looking like she wanted to take off was the clearest sign ever. But he couldn't resist, screwing with the wonder girl Cuddy kept praising over and over again. However cruel on his part, it gave him a pleasant and familiar feeling of power and control he could easily get high with.

"I guess," Taub muttered, bravely fighting back his laugh. "You can claim your money from Cuddy."

"Not that kind of prize on the line," House clarified, speaking absently while still surfing the photos, focused on them and missing the various expressions on his fellow's faces, from Foreman's "yeah whatever" to Master's outraged "oh my God, he wouldn't really imply that?!" one. But if he really acknowledged or cared for their reactions Hose didn't show, and instead went on. "Have you spoken with the girl?"

First reaction on the guy's part, was to do a group 180° turn and look behind them at Masters, who was already so embarrassed she didn't actually thought things could get any worst. Foreman, Taub and Chase looked at her as to ask her what had she done, if there were something else she had come to know and hadn't shared with them. Distracted by their silence House huffed and looked up, right on time to see Masters shrug defensively and shaking her head no. He nodded at Foreman and he stepped forward, somewhat suspicious. The neurologist stood closer to the bed, and followed the boss's silent instruction to handle him the reading glassed on the nightstand. Once he got them, House maneuvered to put them on and tilted his chin up at the screen from under the lens with his mouth slightly open. Waiting for him to actually say something, Foreman fidgeted on his feet and looked back at the rest of the team, but they shrugged clueless at him.

"A family building in suburban neighborhood. A place so tidy and clean to make Wilson's loft look like a landfill," he said with that singing paced voice he got when his brain was working at full force. "Healthy food in the fridge, coasters on the glass coffee table…glass coffee table…and cleaned bathroom," House stopped and looked at the team, enjoying how lost they seemed to be, and anxiously waiting for him to toss them another crumb of wisdom. "There are female clothes in closets and drawers. And since you didn't mention any Ed Wood's syndrome in our patient, I have to guess there's a she in his life."

Chase almost ran to the bed, his jaw falling open when House glared at him before turning the laptop in his direction and showing him the feminine clothes hung along with Cortez's ones.

"I didn't," Chase uttered, but then dragged the computer close and almost sunk his face in the screen. "I didn't expect to find them. I guess I just…didn't notice-"

"I don't send you guys looking for stuff we expect to find. I send you searching for the unexpected," he added then grumbling. "I taught you better than this. Dad is really disappointed."

"Maybe it's just a maid tidying up the place," Masters jumped in trying to defend Chase, to his and everybody else surprise. "The place used to be the parent's one, maybe those are just the mother old clothes."

"Judging by the cut in these tops, either mama fue una puta-" House leaned forward with an impressed and pleased face. "-with a hell of a body, or I'm right and bad kid sits under a tree kissing the bad girl," he looked up at his team, staring at all of them from behind his glasses. "I guess we stick with the girlfriend then. Find her."

"Cortez won't tell us—"

"Did you ask him?" they looked at each other, guilt all over their faces, then House rolled his eyes and took off his glasses using them to point at Master. "You have the queen of getting things with good manners there, and you don't use her?"

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are," he said flatly, then he lowered his face on the computer again and added. "And if you're so interested in my injuries, you can ask the police for a copy of their photos."

There was a low gasp somewhere in the room, and it didn't came from Master as everybody expected. Either she was starting to get House's sarcasm, or she really was unable to detect any trace of it. The boys chickened out, and whoever had vocalized his stupor just hide it, although Foreman delivered a little pleased smile too.

House was definitely back on track, on any level, and nothing but good things could come out of that.


	27. Chapter 27

_What about some action?_

* * *

><p>27<p>

He lived for moment like that.

The calm before the storm, the quiet and unnatural silence wrapping him, the anticipation tickling and the only sound being the rustle of the back of his pants on the seat of the car.

And the annoying chewing and popping of the gum in his partner's mouth.

"You know what Miles," Sawyer muttered, snorting disgusted at the man sitting next to him. "I liked you better when you smoked."

"That makes two of us," Miles shot back, spitting the gum out of the window. "But Jackie likes me better this way. And I like it when she likes me better."

"Selfish bastard," he muttered, but the rest of the sentence was cut off by the cracking sounds of the radio, which he took huffing in the receiver. "Sawyer."

"_We're all set detective,"_ a man's voice announced. _"Whenever you want."_

"What are they doing now?"

"_Um,"_ the voice became lower and said something to someone else, then Sawyer heard other voices and sounds confusing together. _"Hanging around, drinking…nothing much detective."_

_What else should they being doing?_ Sawyer asked himself, holding the radio and chewing his upper lip. _What were you expecting them to been doing? Making bombs? Plotting terrorist attacks? Planning to kill the president?_

No, of course he didn't. Black Calaveras might have been badass guys, but still betting racket badass guys. In his precinct, how to track them down wasn't exactly a mystery. The location of their den was of public domain, and down in the streets they sparkled like stains on white tablecloth. But small dogs, however barking, were hard to get. And even if private violence wasn't that much of an accusation, it was still something they could start with.

From the passenger seat Miles unwrapped a new gum, snorting for the first bite at the strawberry flavor, then looked at his partner lost in his thoughts and absently tapping the radio on his chin. A man's voice from the other end of the line called detective Sawyer again. Miles rolled his eyes at the lack of response and hit the man sitting next to him on his chest, to shake him out of his thoughts.

"_Detective Sawyer? Are you still there?"_

"Yes, yes I'm here."

"_What do you want us to do?"_ The man asked again. _"Team is ready to get in."_

"Have our guys showed up yet?"

"_Not yet."_

That was what he was looking for. He'd been dealing with gangs half of his life, and he knew better not to mess with them with no good reasons. The video House's webcam have recorded was indeed a solid one, their computer guys had worked on it like tailors on precious fabric cutting and shaping frames after frames, giving him some good close-ups of the two attackers. Good enough for the judge, who had granted him the permission to bring them in. How to do it however, was his and only his business.

So better go straight to the nest, gather all the apples and take out the rotten ones. They didn't have enough elements to go after Cortez, not yet. But Sawyer really wanted to return him the "favor" he had paid to Dr. Cuddy by putting pressure on her on the morning.

"Doubts about your guy?" Miles asked then, nodding at the pics of House's attackers spread on the dashboard.

"No," Sawyer answered with a huff.

Then picked up the radio, and instructed the officer on the line to let him know as soon as their special guests would have showed up. Sawyer felt he owned it to House. The doctor have pulled out one hell of an effort to give him something, and he could really use the guy some patience. Sighing, he placed back the radio and took the coffee thermos pouring himself a small cup, darting the dark parking around him and checking for the umpteenth time the position of his men. He had needed to push it a little with the captain, saying rumors on the streets were on Black Calaveras considering to add drug dealing to their business. The skeptical look on his boss's face had told him he was walking on thin ice, but eventually he had gotten the signature he needed.

A couple of hours, countless cups of coffee and Mile's scratch of his ass later, right when he was picturing himself explaining his failure to the captain, a SUV approached the dismissed building.

"Finally," Miles yawned, checking the straps of his life vest. "Ready to roll."

"Hold it Rambo," Sawyer admonished him taking back the radio. "Team one?"

"_On the line detective."_

"Fresh meat just arrived. Take a good look at them."

"_Got it."_

Trying to get a view of the newbies himself, Sawyer focused on the car and the people coming out of it, then rested the radio on his lap and checked his gun.

"Now who is Rambo?" Miles muttered with a grin, saved from Sawyer's counterattack by the radio cracking.

"_Positive detective,"_ the man announced, his voice filled with the trepidation of someone craving for some action. _"We're ready to go."_

"Wait for them to be inside. Switch communication on second channel and wait for my signal."

Then Sawyer closed the conversation, fidgeting in the cockpit of the car to get coats off and portable radio on, then they got out of the car. Holding their guns, the two cops walked across the parking, gathering with more agents behind the SUVs that had just arrived. Leading the operation, Sawyer spread his men on three sides of the building knowing the back was already covered, then they moved closer. As they approached, they heard music and voices coming from inside the building. Sawyer spotted a dirty window and poked his head to get a view of the inside, counting about 25 men and almost the same amount of dark green large boxes he couldn't identify.

But he did see his men with Cortez himself, and a small smile crept on his face. The same smile that froze on his lips, when the cell phone in the pocket of his pants rang.

"Are you going to answer that?" Miles questioned him as his ringtone continued to spread. "Geez, and I thought my wife has bad timing!"

Pissed off, Sawyer switched the gun on his right hand and fished in the pocket to get the phone, frowning at the unknown caller and finally bringing it to his ear.

"Detective Sawyer."

"_I get by your voice I chose the wrong moment to interrupt,"_ an unknown voice greeted him cheerfully. _"But since I don't hear guns shooting, maybe my timing isn't that bad."_

"Who," Sawyer had to step away from the building to hear better, to his fellows surprise. "Who is this?"

"_Your case,"_ the man's voice huffed nonchalantly.

"Dr. House?" The cop almost yelled, using the middle finger of the hand holding the gun to close his left ear. "Dr. House, is that you?"

"_Wow, you're a catcher!"_

"What the…how did you get my number?"

"_I didn't,"_ the doctor answered. _"I got Wilson's phone."_

For some reason, that statement left him blazed and speechless. Sawyer looked around the parking almost looking for answers somewhere.

"_I get you're in the middle of something,"_ House said again, careless of his silent stupor._ "And I really don't want to bother you. But I was wondering if you could do me a favor."_

"A favor? Dr. House, I'm not in the middle of something. I'm about to start a raid. Your raid."

"_Good. Then I guess you won't mind taking some pictures while you're at it."_

"Pictures?"

"_Yes, pictures. Or the photo guy you brought for me yesterday only does still life_?"

"We don't," Sawyer babbled, feeling a sudden headache coming. "We don't go around with newspapers people when we work. This is not "The Untouchables"!"

"_Hei, no need to bitch about it. It's for both of us good."_

"What do you mean?" The cop asked, something in the doctor's voice reminding him he could use the guy some credit after all.

"_I just need to take a look at the animals of your zoo, if you could get some images. Look at it as returning the favor for the ones I got you."_

"Dr. House, I…I'll see what I can do but-"

"_Good, now go get them Elliot. And since you're up I might have some "insights" for your CSI's guys after…Shit!"_

"What?"

"_I'll call you back."_

"_No, you won't!"_

Sawyer pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it, puzzled to hear Wilson's voice too.

"Dr. House?" He asked then, carefully.

"_Yes, I'm here…stop it."_

"_Give me the phone House!"_

"_Just a sec-"_

"_Don't make me call Cuddy."_

"_Oh, man up Wilson!"_

"_Give me…c'mon!"_

"_Hey, ouch! Watch out, easy on the cripple…hey, no!"_

"_House, for God's sake what-"_

What came after, was just a series of sounds and both doctor's voice spiking up on each other, then there was nothing but a muffled noise. Puzzled, the cop looked at the phone and the still open line sign, amused and a bit scared by what might have happened in that hospital room across town. He had all the rights to feel that way, and he would have had no doubts about it; if only he'd know the conversation he'd been involved with had ended once House had stacked Wilson's expensive and fancy cell phone inside his boxers.


	28. Chapter 28

28

Somehow Cuddy had finally made it. She had gotten rid of Wilson, crying like a baby over his stolen phone, yet she couldn't feel entirely relieved. Because for one down, there still was another one to go, from baby to baby. And the second one, the one Wilson was complaining about, was a royal pain in the ass. One she loved, ok, but last thing she felt like doing that early morning was dealing with a stubborn House to get Wilson's phone back.

The oncologist had tracked her down in the cafeteria where she was having breakfast, a real ambush between orange juice and tea, and he had annoyed her to the bone. House had stolen his phone and was holding it hostage in a place he had no intention to mess with, and whoever he had spoken to in the last 10 hours have complained about unanswered communications.

Cutting off his "I have patients, I have responsibilities" riff, Cuddy have assured him he would have gotten his cell back. In that very moment, she was on her way to House's room go get it. If anything, to stop Wilson's protest.

While approaching the room she became suddenly alarmed, hearing muffled screams and noises, and above all noticing the cop who was supposed to be guarding it was nowhere to be seen. One step closer to scream or faint, Cuddy took off on her heels, unable and unwilling to fight back her fear. Which proved to be worthless, once she stood on the door and spotted House and his "bodyguard" sitting in a chair next to the bed, both deeply immersed in watching a movie on House's laptop.

"House-"

"Shush!" He absently waved one hand at her, not moving his eyes from the screen and missing the astonished look on Cuddy's face.

"Are you serious?"

"M'am please," the cop "asked", but failed to see Cuddy's jaw drop on the floor.

But House didn't. He knew all too well Cuddy wasn't fond of any kind of feminine appellative, and as soon as he heard the word "M'am" slip out of cop's lips he froze and looked over at her. Right on time to see her defined yet gentle jaw clench, then she stormed away from the door and rushed to the bed ripping the plug and shutting the computer in the blink of an eye. House knew better to keep his mouth shut, and something in Cuddy's eyes told the cop to do the same. The man nervously swallowed down and coughed, then wisely did nothing but stand up from the chair and walk out of the room.

"Good I've seen it already," House muttered, but her furious glare made him regret it already. "If Wilson sent you to have the phone back," he teased then, nodding down at his lap. "Be my guest."

Cuddy clenched her jaw again, and her shoulder fell down heavily. But then a smirk came up to her lips, and she stepped closer to the bed. House observed her, sensing the challenge in her eyes and immediately feeling slightly aroused when they landed with impressive precision on his lap. But when he was already fore tasting the touch of her hand sneaking in his underwear, she took him off guard. Locking her eyes with his, Cuddy sent her left hand searching between the two pillows behind his back, emerging from them triumphantly holding the phone.

"Oh c'mon," she chuckled at his pouting face, amused by how genuinely disappointed he was. "I know all too well what it looks like," she hinted then glancing at his lap.

"Killjoy," House muttered with a pout, and Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"How did you even get the phone?" Cuddy asked, and he pulled his cane out of nowhere. "And how did you get the cane?"

"Santa's little elf brought it to me, because I've been a good boy during scan," House huffed nonchalantly, smiling when she did too catching his allusion to Taub. "I need it to think…and for this."

It was like a trick, simple yet stunning. With the same natural grace he had picked up the cane, House held the tip in his right hand and stretched his arm. Skillfully, he drove the curved top of the cane to hook the large belt around her waist, and gently dragged her closer. Cuddy bit at her bottom lip, killing the smile forming on her mouth. She didn't fight back and approached the bed, rolling her eyes at the way he stretched his neck begging for a kiss and still leaning down to answer his prayer. House was nothing but pleased to find out it didn't hurt anymore, and he groaned in protest when she pulled back.

"What if I wasn't wearing a belt?"

"That's the last spare outfit you keep in your locker," He stated, shaking his head in disapproval. "Clearly the last choice."

"You're creepy."

"You're flattered," House pointed out.

"Seriously House," She shoot back, finally sitting on the chair. "You know the timing of my menstrual cycle. You keep tracks of my laundry better than myself, you count how many times Rachel poops to be sure there's nothing wrong. I know you do," Cuddy admonished him, then went on. "You are creepy. A sweet and caring stalker, but creepy."

"Your fault. You give me plenty of reasons to be constantly interested."

In their weird world made of games and subterfuges, that was one hell of a compliment, and something so sweet Cuddy melted right there and then. The same way their fingers melted together, a gentle fusion of two strong beings erasing each other.

Merciless broken by a knock on the door.

"Shh…don't answer," House whispered to her.

"Yeah…maybe they'll think you've gone for a walk," Cuddy muttered knowingly, then pulled back from him. "Come in."

"No! Don't…see?" House protested when Sawyer entered the room. "You let him in and he'll ruin everything."

"I can come back later."

"There's nothing to ruin detective," Cuddy assured him, then nodded at House. "He's just messing with you because he's bored."

"Well, then maybe I have something to entertain him," there was something in Cuddy's relaxed face telling him he was safe, then he stepped closer and pulled out of his coat a voluminous yellow envelope. "I got your pics."

"Good to know," House muttered stretching his hand. "Since someone here just gave my movie the final cut."

"By the way, nice to meet you," Sawyer added. He had been around those people long enough to know he shouldn't have relied on everything House said, therefore he just went on. "You seem to be doing well."

"Drug is doing well," he pointed out in a low mutter while taking the pics out of the envelope, failing to see the way Cuddy's jaw clenched at his words, then he whistled at the first pic. "I should tell Chase to spend some time with you and learn how to use a camera. These are good!"

"Thank my wife's anniversary gift," he confessed, showing him a small hyper technologic apparel which was supposed to be a phone. "And my partner for covering my ass during the break-in."

"House," Cuddy huffed glaring at him. "Did you really ask detective Sawyer to take pictured during a dangerous intervention?"

"Oh c'mon Cuddy! We make videotapes during risky surgery," House blurted, resented, then looked at her and nodded. "Can you give me the glasses please, my dear?"

"Don't even try," she warned him, yet she handled him his reading glasses and gave her attention back to Sawyer. "Did you find who you were looking for?"

"I guess only Dr. House can answer that," Sawyer said, watching House studying the photos. "I spoke with the judge and I have a formal agreement. Identification through photos will be accepted for the preliminary phases of the case. Of course, if Dr. House will recognize his attackers."

They both added no more and looked over at House, focused on the photos in his hands, his face an unreadable mask. Sawyer was holding his breath, he'd been dealing with any kind of crime and experience have taught him even the strongest person could easily breakdown by seeing the face of those who had hurt him. House seemed to be a though son of a bitch, people around him too appeared to have some stamina of their own and he had a feeling the two things actually came along, but he had no idea how the doctor would have reacted. The detective looked down at Cuddy, she was watching House too but he couldn't tell if she was sharing his same fear. God, for all he knew that woman was keeping everything under control on her own, and it freaked him out. It had taken him a while to realize they were a pair given her behavior, and just then Dr. Cuddy seemed to start relaxing a little.

If he'd been able to read in Cuddy's mind however, Sawyer might had been disappointed. She was miles away from questioning House's strength to stand yet another challenge, at least not of that kind. Somewhat her brain have stopped, as if someone had pushed the pause button on a DVD player, when House had mentioned drugs. Ever since the beginning, she have forced herself not to get involved about that. She hadn't questioned Wilson about the dosage, she hadn't peaked in House's file or at the drug dispenser, not even when he'd been asleep. It wasn't graved on stone that might have been a issues, she had to have faith in him, and above all House needed to trust himself. Cuddy knew he wouldn't have been able to do it if he'd sensed she knew something he wasn't aware of.

"We have a winner," House finally announced, tossing a photo aside. "And here's the runner up," he added then selecting yet another image and handling both to Sawyer.

"You recognize them as the men who assaulted you in your office?" the cop asked, clearly just out of pure formal need.

"This one," House pointed out sinking his index on a face in the pic. "He's the second one, the one who told me to let my patient die. And this," he held up another photo, showing a guy really surprised by the camera portraying him. "He's the one who came at me first. Tell it to your judge."

Sawyer just nodded, doing his best not to give anything away. On a formal side, he couldn't tell Dr. House the guys he had identified where the same of the video, or it would have end up invalidating the evidence. Then he just took the 2 pics back, and placed them in a plastic bag.

"I'll let you know if we need something else," Sawyer announced, then offered his hand to House. "Thanks for your collaboration."

"You're welcome. And I hope I'll never see you again," House answered returning the gesture the best he could, then nodded at the remaining pics. "Can I keep them?"

"Sure, we have the original," the detective said, then checked his ringing phone. "It's the precinct. I have to go now."

"I'll walk you out."

Sawyer frowned at Cuddy as she stood up. He was about to tell her it wasn't necessary but kept his mouth shut, deciding instead he should have played along. House muttered an absent goodbye to the cop, and something against the lack of entertainment a certain hospital provided, then since he had nothing else to do he went back to the photos as Cuddy and Sawyer left the room. As they passed by the cop guarding the room the officer looked around absently, hoping Cuddy wasn't about to tell Sawyer about the break he had taken, and sighed relieved when they walked away.

"I know you can't tell me much yet," Cuddy said straightforwardly. "But I need to know if this is over. Police isn't something people want to see in a hospital."

Sawyer stared at her for a while, puzzled. Even more when he realized he wasn't actually surprised by her concern for hospital's general safety, but more by the fact that was her main concern for real. If she was still worried for House, either she trusted him to end that ugly story soon and effectively, or she just knew her boyfriend more than anything else.


	29. Chapter 29

29

The day was flying by, uneventful.

Drugs or not, House seemed to be doing better. If pain was still beating up his body, his spirit was keeping the rest up high. His case…both of them actually - the patient and his aggression – kept his mind busy in the lonely hours. And other than being happy as a girlfriend, as the dean of medicine she was nothing but proud to see her best doctor never giving up.

On the personal side, Cuddy was experimenting something new. She wasn't used to the lack of duty coming into the picture once Marina had brought Rachel to the hospital. Her daughter had gone through the usual parade of smiles, caresses and gibberish words uttered by the nurses, much to her amusement. Nobody have mentioned House of course, and nobody have asked her if she needed someone to watch over Rachel. Cuddy didn't want to leave her daughter, and if anything that ugly situation did have the bright side to allow her spending more time than usual with Rachel.

The night before camping in the doctor's lounge - as Wilson called it - have been nice; as funny as trying to make yourself at home with a couple of armchairs and a billiard table could be. Of course, Rachel couldn't know how strange it was, For her, it was nothing but a day off from the usual routine. Just a day with mommy, and watching her daughter rolling the colored balls on the green velvet rug, Cuddy had to bless kid's innocent ignorance.

Smiling at her daughter, sitting on the table and happily bouncing ball number 3 on the number 7 amused by the sound they produced, Cuddy stood up from the stool near the counter where she was reading some budget reports, and approached the billiard table.

"Mommy!" Rachel said as she spotted Cuddy, holding up one of the ball. "We play!"

"Ok Rachel," Cuddy said with a smile, leaning down on the table.

Giggling happily, Rachel put the ball down and with all her strength pushed it toward her mother. Cuddy had to stretch her arm to grab it, and then gently rolled it back to the child. The simple game seemed to entertain Rachel beyond limits while, as many kid's games, it soon bored Cuddy to the bone. Yet, what else could she do? Working? She had done so much paperwork, she had probably exhausted all the documents for the next month. Thinking about House? As pleasant as it might sound, in that case it would have been worry about him, and she didn't want to go there.

Even calling Sawyer would have been a lame distraction. After his visit, the detective have called to let her know the two men recognized by House have been charged for private violence, assault and attempted murder. The next step would have been trial, and although he still had to find the real trigger of everything, he had no doubt they could consider the story closed.

Honestly, Cuddy didn't need to know anything more about that. Which brought her back to square one, where rolling balls back and forth on the table was her best option. Soon tough, maybe because she was getting tired, Rachel at first slowed down then stopped, turning her attention back to the sheets of paper and crayons spread on the table. Curios by the change, Cuddy straightened up and walked around the table reaching her daughter, looking down at the drawings she had done. Unicorns, flowers, colored undistinguished shapes…nothing unusual for a 3 years old girl after all. But although Cuddy naïvely wished things could stay like that forever, something on the colored world her daughter was portraying cringed way too much with the one she was living in.

"Rachel honey," Cuddy sighed, touching the hair on the girl's forehead. "I need to tell you something."

Sipping his coffee, Wilson passed by the officer standing outside House's room and handed him the second cup, along with a paper bag containing a sandwich and a donut. He had never really been fond of uniforms, and having police around still made him feel uncomfortable. But he have heard about the man's morning match with Cuddy, and the oncologist felt the guy could use some nice gestures from PPTH's staff.

"Everything ok?" Wilson asked him nodding at the room, feeling like a cop himself.

"All quiet," the officer answered with a huff, studying with greedy eyes the sandwich. "The nurse is inside now."

Wilson checked his watch, the nurse inside was following the schedule he had set up to keep track of House's vitals, then he nodded to himself and took another sip. Things seemed to be doing better, knowing the police have caught the guys was a major relief, but there were still things that needed to be wrapped up, in and outside the hospital.

"Dr. Wilson?"

"Uh, yes?" He answered absently, shook out of his thoughts by the cop's voice.

"The nurse in there," the man started with a low and inquiring voice, so serious that Wilson suddenly felt like running inside House's room and find out some Latino girl dressed up like a nurse was about to stab his friend. "Is she, I mean…seeing someone?"

If he'd still had coffee in his mouth, Wilson would have probably spit it right in the cop's face. Baffled, the doctor poked his head in the door, recognizing Jenny standing next to a sleeping House, then pull back and looked at the officer.

"I don't know, I…I don't think so," the oncologist answered mumbling.

"You think you could," the cop kept going with a low voice, so worried someone could hear him that he put one arm around Wilson's shoulder bringing him closer. "Clear it up for me? Maybe throw in one good word?"

At first Wilson thought he should have let the man know he pretty much sucked as matchmaker, but something in the solid grip of the cop around him taught him better not to let him down. Fumbling with words, the oncologist tried to offer his help without promising too much, and once he was free he could finally sneak in House's room.

"Is he sleeping?" He asked Jenny, who looked at him and nodded.

"Like a baby," she informed him in a low voice, almost overcame by House's snoring. "Really makes you wonder how Dr. Cuddy can put up with this."

Wilson chuckled softly. He actually had lot of possible answers for her, but since all of them involved slipping out details of the dean's personal life, he just kept his mouth shut. He looked around and spotted the tray with House's lunch remains, then glanced over at his friend.

"He'd been sleeping a lot," the oncologist muttered then, studying House's position on the bed. Because of the injuries he seemed a little uncomfortable, but at least his body was not lying like a dead corpse anymore.

"That is good," Jenny announced, then closed House's folder and gave Wilson a knowing look.

Silent, the oncologist returned her conspirator gaze and after a quick look at the door, he stretched his hand to her. With the same caution, Jenny gave a quick look to House then pulled out from her pocket a piece of paper she handed over at Wilson. Thoughtful, the doctor took it and carefully studied the handwritten notes on it, almost holding his breath. He was playing a dirty game, both on House's and Cuddy's back, but he hadn't been able to think of any other way. He had seen his opportunity the moment Cuddy had told him she didn't want to know about House's medications, not even if she'd threaten him. Wilson had seized the chance. He knew House would have never asked straight, not to show any sign of weakness, and Cuddy's request had given him a small window of action. If she was concerned about the morphine's dosage, he couldn't honestly tell. Since from when Rachel had come to the hospital, he didn't feel like bothering her anyway. And House's pride, or fear or whatever was holding him back from asking, had given him the confidence to do what he had done.

Since from the start, he'd been keeping good track of House's drugs, to the point he had needed to elaborate a plan and find himself a reliable accomplice. If Jenny liked his strategy or not she hadn't let him know, but she had followed his instructions taking House's drugs down, one notch at the time with regular intervals, more or less careless of the consequences on his friend.

Wilson actually felt he couldn't have gotten that one right anyway, then might as well go down solo and try to come up with something of his own. The trigger have been the first questioning House had gone through, the dangerous thin balance he have had to find between House's pain and the drugs. His friend was in pain and he needed drug, but his pain wouldn't have been eternal and so wouldn't have been his need for heavy medication. But after one year and a half drug free, to give House's opiates was like play Russian roulette with his life. More likely, House would have needed some painkillers after, and eventually he wouldn't have needed them anymore either. His body at least, his mind on the other hand… Wilson had seen House slip into addiction once, and he didn't want to go through that again. More than that, he didn't want Cuddy to face that spiral from the bitter-sweet role of the girlfriend.

Thoughtful, Wilson kept studying Jenny's schedule, in his mind matching it with how he had seen House right after, valuing the changes in his conditions. House was feeling better, no doubt about that. He was eating, sleeping well, up to work and mocking his team, enjoying his time with Cuddy. The real question was, could he do all those things because drugs allowed him, or all those distractions had been House's own cure to keep soreness away?

Wilson didn't feel like going for any of them. Whatever the case.

Take it down again," he said then, handling the paper back to Jenny. "We'll check him again in four hours."

The way he saw it, the choice was between take him off morphine all at once, or do it step by step behind his back. After a first internal debate, the oncologist had no doubt about his choice. Mainly because the second one came along with a nice, and coward, backup plan he could refuge himself into if needed.

_Oh shit! Not now that things are getting better!_

It was all the protest the half-asleep part of his brain could come up with, before it entirely drifted into the dream, like a gentle flow of water infiltrating between rocks. He knew, as much as he could know something in that moment, the thing shaping in his mind was a dream. It had to be. It was the only explanation for seeing himself standing, on his both legs in his office; two clear signs of how unreal that was. Not to mention the blissful lack of pain, something he could rarely enjoy even during sleep. Which had him wonder if his sleep was just that, deep and resting, or an unpleasant gift wrapped in morphine.

Then the office around him, silent and empty, suddenly became crowded and noisy, filled with loud Latin music and dozens of copies of the guys who had attacked him. The more they multiplied, the more he felt short of breath; the closer they got, the faster he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He tried to move, to run away from them, but other than have no place to go those functioning and healthy legs proved useless. They didn't respond when he ordered them to move, and no voice came out of his mouth when a maze of threatening hands tried to grab him.

But right when they were about to get hold of him, a bright light exploded around him, melting images of the men like snow in the sun. He had no time to enjoy it, because all went black and dark right after. An obscure fallout for a luminous explosion, that brought to his nose lulling smells of freshly baked bread, cleaning products, lemon scented ammonia and flavored ambient candles. He liked cigars, fried chicken, bourbon and spicy sauce better, but for some reasons he loved those smells. More likely because they came along with the image of a smiling Cuddy, slowly shaping somewhere in front of him.

Just the smile at first, like the creepy Cheshire Cat from the story, then all her beautiful face formed completely as she walked in his direction, sinuous approaching step after step. Like in all dreams, the moment he tried to get control of it by stepping toward her he ruined it all, and Cuddy's face started to change, slowly and inevitably morphing into someone else's.

Then House woke up, all of sudden. So eager to get the nurse alarm that he rolled on his side, forgetful of his damaged ribs. And so pissed he couldn't get hold of it, that he started to scream out for someone with all the air in his lungs.


	30. Chapter 30

_This would be the right moment to remind all of you I am not a doctor. I do my research, I want to get things right and make them reliable; but in the end I am just a passionate writer. And, of course, I am not a cop either!_

* * *

><p>30<p>

There was a yawn somewhere in the room, which pissed him off big time. Then his disappointment faded into a joking amusement, when darting the people around him he spotted Sawyer covering his mouth with one hand. House's tongue flickered like a snake's one inside his mouth, itching with a joke. But then he had to bite it carefully, noticing the cop wasn't the only one looking tired and sleepy.

He couldn't get it. How could they be tired and so flat, despite what they were up to? He was in pain, or on drugs whatever; sleep deprived and recovering from a fucked up nightmare; all he had to eat was muddled food that tasted all alike, still he felt energized and ready to roll. Yet, around him nothing but a bunch of zombies dangling on their feet, yawning and blinking to get fresh air in their lungs and eyes. God, he hated that! Such a wonderful opportunity, such a precious chance to kill two pigeons with one hit…how could he be the only one able to appreciate it?

_Wrong assumption._

House's heard his own voice admonishing him, and for once he had to thank his inner interlocutor for the keen observation. There was no need to fool himself around, when he looked at his team he knew they cared for nothing but the diagnosis. Hadn't he taught them that after all? On the other hand, watching Sawyer it was clear the cop's one and only interest was to cut the last rope holding up the curtain, and finally revealing the complete picture. As for himself, House knew on his own face he would have seen a doctor on the verge of a medical epiphany. And at the same time the one of an amateur detective, about to unfold his very own criminal mystery.

So yeah, how could they not be excited was not the right question. If anything, the point was how could he be so pumped up about something everybody else would have just passed to someone else?

"You're lacking a motive," House finally said pointing at Sawyer with his cane, then moved the pointer to his team. "And you're lacking…well, everything else."

Sawyer didn't really know what to think. He didn't know how he have ended up there, arguing with his wife because he had to work for the second night in a row while trying to process Dr. Cuddy's call in his head. No way then, he could figure out what the humble grunt House's fellows produced meant. Then Foreman sighed, a long and loud huff of annoyance that, however noted by House, left the doctor careless. Once again, Sawyer had the feeling that environment was indeed a weird one. And that impression was further reinforced, when despite the clear annoyance on their faces House's fellows kept their four mouths wisely shut, and kept looking at their boss. Anxiously waiting for him to open God knew what chest.

Curios, the detective suddenly felt more vigil. He folded his arms, finding himself staring attentively at House, who seemed to love the attention. Despite the fact he was laying down in that bed, he gathered all of them around him, with a powerful magnetism the more he looked at the doctor the more he could see, like a bright aura spreading light all around him.

And he was hooked too. With no way out.

"Our patient," House stated. "Came in with chronic fatigue, joint pain, insomnia. And recently he'd being a bitchie forgetful. His place was useless, no elements indicating anything that could explain his symptoms. Unless what we're dealing with here is a rare allergy. We ruled out food and heavy metal poisoning, mold was inconclusive-"

Sawyer had to give it to him, the man knew how to entertain his audience. And sure as hell, he did know how to do his job, although the cop wasn't sure he wanted to know more about that searching the patient's home. He followed the story of how Cortez's case have progressed, quite fascinated, however wondering who that speech was meant to reach. Wondering if it wasn't just about House himself, to help him keep track of events he hadn't witnessed.

Then of course, there was also the possibility he just needed to show off.

"-and then we found the girl. Or to better say, that there was a girl. Well I did, actually."

"Patient denied," Masters pointed out, jumping in pretty boldly for her standards. "He said there's no girlfriend-"

"Of course he did," House blurted out, smirking triumphantly. "Because she's not his girlfriend."

As if they've just come out of the copy machine, House's team's members faces all frowned at the same time way, and they all leaned slightly forward. Sawyer looked over at House, he was grinning from ear to ear knowing they were like rats and he was the Pied Piper casting them, and he enjoyed every bit of it. Then he glanced back at the four unsure doctors, failing to detach the annoyance he had seen before, and thinking they put it aside for two reasons. House clearly had a point, which deserved that entire act he was building up, and they felt like granting him with that moment to shine and feel in control again.

"You've been careless guys," House pointed out again, shaking his head disappointed. "You ruled out things too quickly."

"We did all the tests to confirm our theories, nothing matched," Taub tried to defend himself and the rest of the team, also eager for House to get to the point and cease the torture.

"We tested blood, we biopsied kidney and liver, we tested feces and whatever found at his place-"

"But you didn't test the one thing that could give us the answer," House cut Chase off. "But hey, no need to feel bad about it. After all you didn't have all the necessary elements. And neither did you."

As Dr. House pointed at him, with that intense and knowing gaze, Sawyer felt suddenly forced to straighten up and unfold his arms, not really liking the way the doctor made him feel. The cop felt obliged to answer, to justify himself actually. But as he was still fishing for words, like a magician performing a card trick, House pulled out of nowhere a couple of pictures, two of the ones Sawyer gave to him. He held them up high with his right hand, keeping the revealing side on himself, then tilted his chin up in Sawyer's direction and nodded at him to come closer.

"Pick one."

Not sure about that, the detective gave the team a quick look. He swore Foreman nodded at him encouragingly, still as he stepped forward he felt like he was about to feed a lion. He approached the bed but stopped at arm length and stretched his hand, moving it from one pic to the other and finally picking one. He was puzzled, finding himself looking at a picture of Ramiro Cortez taken during the break-in, showing a young woman standing right next to him.

"You know who she is, don't you?" House asked, and Sawyer nodded. "Mind to share with the rest of the class?"

"She's," he addressed the team, still holding the pic but looking like he didn't know what to do with it. "Ramiro's girlfriend-"

"Ah ah!" House yelled from behind him, reproducing some sort of honky siren sound, "Wrong, but thank for playing. Well ok, she Cortez's girlfriend all right. But not just his one."

"STD?" Foreman asked curios, mad at himself because that option have never come up to the plate.

"Gonorrhea, Chlamydia, syphilis," Chase listed, shaking his head with a small shrug. "The symptoms just don't fit, how could we-"

"Oh, don't cry! Daddy still loves you," House mocked him with fake soft eyes, then handed him the pic still in his hand. "There's still door number two."

Huffing annoyed, Chase stepped forward and hastily ripped the pic off House's hand. He gave it a quick look, but then waved it in the air not knowing what was the point with it. It was House's turn to roll his eyes annoyed, he hated it when people didn't play along, then he looked over at Sawyer.

"You found weapons in those guys's den."

"Yes," Sawyer said, doubtful. "Old rifles and guns, their arsenal-"

"Courtesy of US Army," House then cut him off, a sparkling light in his eyes, and he nodded at Chase. "Those fancy green boxes with US Army sigils on, they are full of weapons. My guess is old weapons some retiring general sold to beef his retirement funds," Sawyer's jaw clenched, his operation was indeed leading there and it was such a big thing they needed to keep it quiet. But apparently House wasn't interested in messing with that. "Sigils say Baghdad, February 1991."

"Gulf war syndrome?" Taub blurted out. "It's not even a confirmed disease, symptoms-"

"Would you stop interrupting me already? You're ruining the flow!" House pouted. "I'm sure if police get his lab rats to check, they'll find traces of depleted uranium. As much as I'm sure if you," he pointed at his team, "get samples of our guy's swimming boys you'll find metallic non biocompatible such as Ferrochromium, Zirconium, molybdenum What?" He asked then, enlarging his arms. "No jumping in this time? Then I guess you didn't read that book of mine attentively enough."

"How is this even related with the patient, House?" Foreman asked, failing to see the link. "And what about the girl?"

"Oh c'mon! Do you really need me to explain that? Taub!" he shouted, meaning he should be the one giving the answer.

"She's," the doctor tried, hesitantly. "Is she cheating on older Cortez, with the younger one?" He answered and asked at the same time, then frowned at House's smirk. "Hey, why did you ask me-"

"Look at the girl," House stated. "She's not just scared and worried for the police. She's in pain. Detective, did you search her at the precinct?"

"We were about to," Sawyer answered, his voice slowing down as gears triggered in his mind. "But she needed a doctor."

"Because you found bleeding plagues in her vagina," House stated, grinning at the way the cop blushed, then he looked at his fellow's. And he decided it was time to rip the curtain open. "In 1991, at the end of Gulf War, lot of US's soldiers came back home with various syndromes, most of them mistakenly dismissed as post war depression, reactions to chemical weapons and whatever. Being a sick war veteran didn't pay out, all the possible medical consequences of the conflicts had been swept under the carpet to forget it faster. But someone noticed one of those syndromes didn't affect just the soldiers."

House stopped and nodded at Chase and Sawyer, they both stepped forward and gave him back the pics, the cop feeling like suspense was killing him.

"This girl," he said then holding up the photo. "She and our patient have the same thing and this," he showed the second pic too. "This is how they got it. Burning Semen Syndrome. Dr. Montanari in Italy is specialized in micro powder, connected exposition to fine particles derived from depleted uranium with a recurring series of syndromes, which seemed to affect soldier's wives too."

"And Cortez could have gotten this from those boxes?" Sawyer asked, shocked on the surface but fascinated underneath.

"Residues of uranium might have been left on the boxes and weapons. Add to this a prolonged exposure to the source," Foreman was explaining to the detective, but then he stopped, frowning and looking at House. "Wait, this means-"

"Allergy and heavy metal poisoning weren't that wrong. You guys just didn't combine them the right way," House explained. "Get a sperm sample, and you might want to bring here the girl too," he said to Sawyer. "We need to test her too."

Sawyer nodded in agreement and turned around on his heels. Followed by the team he headed to the door, all of them with the clear intention to follow House's instructions. But from behind them, the doctor rolled his eyes and shook his head with an amused smile, then sighed and called them out.

"Not done yet!" At House's mutter all of them stopped, oddly bumping on each other, and looked back. "There's one piece left to complete the puzzle."

"We have a diagnosis," Masters stated, confused. "If we confirm we can start the cure-"

"The motive," House announced looking at Sawyer, whose face lightened up in interest. "We have the how, don't you want to know the why?"

"So this is not about our patient anymore?"

"What? You don't give a damn about how I ended up here?" House blurted at Master's clarification, then he pouted folding his arms. "That hurts you know. And anyway, crime solving is included, so shut up."

"You mean you know why you've been attacked?" The detective asked, eager to bring the topic of the conversation back on his track.

"As lame as it might sound, good old vendetta," House puffed out, then frowned and thoughtfully rested his index on his lips. "Or I should say male possessive pride. Yeah, I bet the older Cortez said something like "let that bastard die" when he told his fellows to come after his doctor."

There was a moment, a long one, of silence. For the first time, everybody's attention wasn't on House but on Sawyer. He could feel it all, and he had the faintest idea how to react. He was too busy, his mind realizing what have just happened. Had Dr. House just solved the case, his case? Actually, the man had given him the right direction, solid evidences, identikit and suspects. He have opened for him the door of a new ad huge investigation, and have provided him with a motive. And Sawyer had to wonder if that case have actually ever been his at all. Still shell shocked and not entirely aware of how it might have happened, Sawyer chewed the suggestion in his mind and finally nodded.

"Cortez found out his brother's affair. But he couldn't go straight for him, to keep the gang's stability," He said then. "But once Jaime got sick, he saw the chance to have his revenge with a subtle expedient. He went after the doctor not to have him cured."

"Yes," House muttered in a low voice, the cockiness he had kept up till then suddenly gone. "I was just a collateral damage."

No matter his prolonged and intense exposure to that environment, Sawyer couldn't know that shy admission was a rare phenomenon. He could tell it soon, just by looking at the uneasy surprise the four doctors were desperately trying to hide.

And he sure caught it in the huge and spontaneous sense of relief that filled the room when Cuddy stood on the door.


	31. Chapter 31

31

It was dark all around

_Oh great, another fucking dream!_

The darkest and bottomless pit of the world ever. No sounds, not even a simple echo, as if the space had no limits. Scaring, terrifying thoughts. A space so infinite he couldn't imagine, so many unknown things and mysterious threats.

Such a powerful nothing, full of possibilities for everything to go wrong.

That was probably why he was there. In pain, a grief that seemed destined to never leave him, like a stubborn subscriber. Too bad nobody asked his opinion about that tick and prolonged connection. Why did it always have to be about pain for him? An abusive father he have had to face on his own, because of a coward mother. Feeling unwanted for half of his life, betrayed by someone he loved, with the unwelcome souvenir of a damaged leg. Always close to lose his mind, grasping for a way out of a dark place, over and over again. Him, always him and nobody else.

Suddenly, his body jerked up in a gasp of pain. There was a thick layer of sweat all over his face, and his hands gripped the sheets.

_No, no, not again. Not now. Please someone help me, please!_

The desperate appeal seemed to work. It was screamed out loud, and got lost in the unlimited space around producing no echo or feedbacks. But at least his body just stopped shaking. He laid down again, calm, with a regular and slow breath. Even a touch of healthy redness on his cheeks, however it didn't last long. He simply wasn't destined to have some peace, and his whole being quaked again, his injured bones arching up and fidgeting in the bed.

_Someone do something, c'mon! Help!_

It all stopped again, but it was just a mere break because it started all over again, with a torturing precise pattern. Crisis, scream, calm. Crisis, scream, calm. Crisis, scream, calm. Unfinished and unlimited, as much as the space around him.

Then something changed. After the umpteenth crisis, his body seemed to enjoy a longer break and he slowly, ravenously, opened his eyes. Tired eyes, empty and blank windows of a soul that couldn't fight anymore.

_No, hold on! Fight! C'mon you, keep fighting. Don't let it go. No!_

Eyelids became heavier, impossible for him to keep open. When they started to close, it felt as if that could have be the last time.

_Oh c'mon! Don't give up! You have things to live for, reason to fight for. People to live for. Please no, don't to this. No! No please. House stay with me, stay with me. I'm here, don't let me down. Don't die…no, no, no, no! House, House don't leave me, no! No!_

"No!"

She woke up all of sudden, unsure about where she was, how and why. At least until she became aware of her own hand, violently gripping House's one. More likely she was hurting him, but she just couldn't let him go. She actually locked her hand with his, even stronger, and she tried to do the same with his eyes, immediately finding his worried and quite scared face. But he tried to hide his concern somehow, he brushed the worried expression away from his face with a smirk and squeezed her hand gently.

"You almost broke my hand. Even more, I mean," he teased, then became more serious. "That must have been one hell of a nightmare."

"The worst," Cuddy admitted with a painful groan, moving to the edge of the armchair so she could lean closer to him. "You were dying."

A bit puzzled, House said nothing. Still without saying a word, he just welcomed her when she snuggled up in his arms in a position they've performed at her every visit, every time with less and less discomfort on House's part and minor fear to hurt him on Cuddy's side. Once they were settled, House rested his chin on top of Cuddy's head and kissed her forehead, his right arm absently sliding up and down on hers waiting for her to spill the guts. Not that there was much to say, "you were dying" was a strong enough hint about the content of her dream, but after a while it became clear she wasn't up for further details anyway.

"I'm hurt, I have a long recovery ahead," he hinted then with a calm voice. "It affects you. It's normal-"

"Normal?" Cuddy cut him off with renewed energy, almost angry at him. "House, I've seen you almost die for the pain because of your infarction. I saw you bleed out your life from gunshots. I was there, holding my breath, to know if you were still there after the DBS. You puked on me for a massive concussion you kept ignoring. I've seen you in one of these bed countless times…I've seen you almost die, more times than what I could stand. Don't you dare," all of sudden, the steady and harsh tone of her rant stopped. Like changing the gear of the car, she slowed down and despite the hard words coming out of her mouth her face softened and she absently brushed his face, caressing him with that and her voice. "Don't you dare underestimate how losing you would make me feel."

Breathless, still shocked by how she had switched from fear to aggressiveness to fragility in such a short time, House sustained her gaze for a while. Too puzzled to realize he hadn't enough strength for it. Because there was so much love, pain, fear and hope in her eyes, he felt like a powerless Perseus facing Medusa, frozen right there and then by the intensity of her gaze and words.

When he touched her face, calling her lips on his with his eyes, he prayed she could get the upcoming kiss wasn't a way to deflect. He needed that, he needed that fix before saying anything else, to feel every dimension of her love for him. Careless of his motives Cuddy leaned down on him. There was no teasing, nor tentative start. Instead they went straight for the kiss, their tongues sucking at each other thirstily but gently, hands holding the other's face and neck to keep them as locked as they could. The kiss broke, but they didn't pull back. Cuddy rested her forehead on his and their noses touched as they smiled, breathing on each other's face until House closed his eyes and sighed, gathering his determination.

"I guess," he painfully whispered on her lips. "I still have to get used to this…that someone would miss me-"

There were no words to describe how she felt, how overwhelmed she was by such a deep confession. Something so good, shouldn't have been so painful at the same time. It wasn't right, nobody should have felt weak and exposed for saying something like that, he shouldn't have felt ashamed. Cuddy wanted to hold him, kiss him, touch him. Crawl in that hospital bed with him, cuddle, make love to him… Anything to let him feel the love she had for him. Yet, nothing she could have said or done, could have been enough to tell him, to prove him, how much all that meant to her.

Then, she felt a single tear poke from her left eye. It slid down on her cheek, and as soon as it touched the corner of her lips, House leaned in and kissed it away, claiming for him the spontaneous evidence of her love for him. It hadn't been long since the last time she have cried for him, on him, but they both knew that was a completely different situation. That tear didn't come out of fear and frustration, it wasn't due to fatigue and impotence, but simply and genuinely to the relief for something they've finally left behind. And to a renewed faith they could face the future together.

"What doesn't kill you," House mumbled to himself, stealing Cuddy a small laugh.

"Indeed," she sighed then, gently caressing his cheek where the bruises were fading. "I told Rachel what happened."

House frowned, not sure why she had told him, and even more clueless as to why she had told her daughter. He was about to ask her, above all curios about how she might have managed to explain a 3 year old kid what they've been through, but then a light cough caught him. With a gentle and discreet urgency, Cuddy stood up and went for the nightstand to pour him a glass of water.

"Why did you tell her?" He asked giving her back the empty glass, watching as she stood to the bedside table absently touching his stuff.

"I don't know," Cuddy said with an honest shrug. "She's been here one day and a half, it's like a vacation with mommy. I guess I didn't like the idea she might think this was all about something good and happy."

"She's a kid Cuddy," House said. "Life for her is good and happy now, she knows nothing but that."

"But that's not how life is, not always," She insisted sadly, randomly brushing the keyboard of his laptop. "Maybe it's not fair for her to think it is-"

She winced when House's hand came out of nowhere and seized her wrist, freezing her hand absently playing with the reading glasses. Puzzled, Cuddy turned in his direction, already knowing she would have seen determination in his face. She also saw him stretch for half out of the bed to reach for her. It looked painful for him, it probably was given his injuries, yet he didn't seem to care.

But she did. Postponing her need to know what had gotten into him, all of sudden Cuddy stepped closer closing the distance. She smiled softly at his smirk of soreness, and helped him reposition himself in the bed.

"What?" She asked then, absently caressing his messed up hair and noticing some light sweat.

"She's too young to know the truth about this ugly world," he said then, still fidgeting with his back on the pillows and smirking. "She'll find out soon enough, no need to spoil her."

"She's worried for you," Cuddy informed him, then added. "Well, as much as a child her age could be. She said I should have kissed your boo-hoos to make them all better."

"Told ya she's a smart kid," he grumbled amused, then looked down at his damaged body. "There is indeed a lot to kiss here."

"House," Cuddy huffed vehemently, quickly walking around the bed and standing at the bottom of it, looking straight at him. "Listen to me. You are going to be ok?"

"How can you know Cuddy?" He asked back with no hesitation, then his face became more unsure. "How can I know?"

"Because I know you want to."

Oh evil woman! How could she know, how could she be so sure? No, he hadn't forgotten his own decision, but he didn't remember sharing his intention with her either. Yet, she looked so confident he seriously had to wonder when she had become able to read his mind. She have always been able to do that, and he gulped down feeling suddenly naked because of her gaze. And she kept staring at him, with that steady yet reassuring smile House had never seen on anybody else's face in his entire life. Until he realized she was waiting for him to say something. And as he nodded at her he hoped that could do it, because he really needed to get rid of the growing anxiety inside him.

Whatever the case, Cuddy seemed to be satisfied. Then she abandoned her position, and approached him again with another glass of water, which he took with a trembling hand.

"I'm gonna bring Rachel here," she announced. "She wants to see you, and you want it too but you're too shy to ask. That, and I'm running out of things to tell her."

"Well, what if I don't like the idea she might see me like this?"

"You're not that bad you know," she teased then caressing, his sweating forehead. "And since you already let Masters in, I guess kids are allowed."

House grumbled something about her stubbornness while demanding some more water, and kept doing it with a small smile as he killed the new glass too. Once he was done, the grumbling became louder. Especially when Cuddy's pager went off, announcing with its beep the moment of her departure.

"I'll be back later," she said, skipping the useless apology part they both hated. "I have a couple of meetings but I should make it."

"Then don't forget my muddled dinner," House said with a smirk. "I'll tell Wilson to arrange a table for three."

Cuddy smiled at his allusion, and its casual meaning, then gave him a quick kiss on his lips before leaving the room. Leaving him finally free to wipe the massive sweat away from his forehead, before hiding his shaking hands under the sheets.

He could hide them, but he couldn't pretend they weren't there. As much as he couldn't ignore the sweat soaking his body, and the faster pace of his breath. He had tried to blame that growing agitation on is conversation with Cuddy, it had been pretty emotional after all between hers and his confession, and he had been shocked to find out he really wanted to see Rachel. Not to mention, how impressed he had been for the way not only she had figured him out, but also allowed him to get what he wanted without make him expose himself and ask straight.

But no matter the emotional rollercoaster he'd just been through, House knew all too well what that was all about. And as he tried to keep it together, he couldn't decide if he should have been mad or glad at Wilson.


	32. Chapter 32

_With the case and the patient's mystery solved, there's only one thing left for House to overcome. Will he make it?_

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><p>31<p>

"You're detoxing him," Cuddy said straight forward, opening the door of Wilson's office.

From his desk, the oncologist immediately dropped the pen and leaned back on the chair, pulling away from her to keep a safe distance. At least until he would have been able to figure out if Cuddy was about to kill him or not.

It was hard to tell indeed. Not only for her flat voice, but also for the complete lack of clue her body language was giving. Then, he finally realized it. She was standing in front of him, with her hands joined together, because she was not there to tell him something, but just waiting for him to open his mouth.

"He's been on a placebo for the last eight hours," he finally said. "I switched the bag's label in case he could check. We've been keeping track of the situation, decreasing the dosage every three hours, more or less."

"We?" Cuddy asked, swamping on the chair in front of the desk.

Wilson frowned, curious. He still couldn't read her properly, and he felt he had to, before ratting out his accomplish. He studied her for a while, abandoned on the chair, and decided she seemed relieved more than anything else.

"Jenny," he said, leaning forward on the desk, now feeling somewhat safe. "She helped me out to keep track of everything. We've always had him under control Cuddy, but I couldn't tell you. Or him. And I'm the doctor in charge, I-"

"You did what you thought was better for him Wilson," She cut him off. It took him a second to process the hurried statement as an honest one, which was more or less the equivalent of one of House's "don't fuss, it's okay". Then Cuddy sunk her head in between her shoulders and sighed, shaking her head. "You probably did the only thing you could about this."

"I should have told you. Maybe not him, but you-"

"Good thing you didn't!" She blurted out, suddenly jumping on her feet and holding her head with one hand. "I just saw the first signs of abstinence. I'm lucky I got a page, or he would have noticed. I couldn't ignore them-"

"Is it bad?" The oncologist asked, stopping Cuddy's frantic pacing on his carpet.

"Not yet," she said then, this time sitting on the couch. "He's still at the early stage…three days of hell ahead."

"You think he knows?" Wilson asked, slowly standing up and walking around the desk to join her, and Cuddy gave him a hard look.

"He's been an addict for half of his life. He's been through withdrawal and detox before…of course he knows," she sighed, the light anger in her voice evaporating in a long frustrated huff as she shook her head with a bitter sweet smile. "I just told him I'd bring Rachel to see him. What was I thinking-"

"Maybe you should, no matter what," Wilson cut her off, something slightly aching inside him at her evident regret. He sat down next to her and took her hand, speaking softly. "You're right, by now he must have figure out on his own. But if I know him as well as I think we both know him I'm sure he'd been thinking about this himself."

"He told you something?"

There was a light trace of hope in Cuddy's voice as she asked him, almost begging her friend to confess House have found the strength to confront his fears with someone. Although Wilson hated to let her down, he gave her an apologizing smirk, biting at his bottom lip as he regretted his previous choice of words.

"House's conditions, his safety, drugs," he said then with an absent shrug. "We've all been worried about this in the last days. We tried to keep him busy, with his patient and the rest. But I know he was keeping track of how much morphine I was giving him, of the level of the pain-"

"Yes," Cuddy huffed leaning back on the couch, an absent and pleased smile on her face. "Jenny told me this morning he tried to convince her let him see his file."

"He can value his own injures, therefore he knows what's in store for him. But I haven't seen him give up," the oncologist stated, looking straight at Cuddy. "Since from the start, all the efforts he had put in helping out the police, the strength he'd shown, his stubbornness in following the patient's situation… You know, I was skeptical about him working but that's what he'd been doing, fighting back. That's what he'll keep doing Cuddy."

"I know Wilson, I know," she sighed, patting her friend's hand. "I guess the real question is if I'll be able to keep up the pace with him."

"Cuddy, you've always been there for him," Wilson reassured her with a genuine smile. "You'll always be, and he knows."

"But I've never been there for him for something like this. How can I know," frustrated, Cuddy bit at her bottom lip and closed her eyes for a moment. "Last year I let him down when he needed me. I was too scared to deal with his recovery, and you're the one who have always been there for him when nobody else could-"

"And yet, I just did what he hates the most," The oncologist jumped in, squeezing her hand before standing up. "I made the choice for him. I deprived him of the possibility to pick his own fate, and let him decide what he wanted to do."

"It was the right call Wilson."

"Maybe, but not his one," he observed with a smirk, thanking her for her vain reassurance.

If you're right about him thinking about this, and I believe you are," Cuddy said standing up and approaching him next to the window door of the balcony. "Then you might have just done him a favor. You know him, he always overthinks, valuing everything and processing," a small chuckle escaped her mouth and she shook her head, absently looking out of the window. "More likely he did nothing but stress himself about this, debated between fighting to stay clean knowing he could be a burden for me and Rachel, and thinking maybe with the drugs and less pain he could be less of a problem. Sometimes, I just wish he could take things the way they are, one step at the time-"

"He wouldn't be House I guess," he chuckled standing behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders. "I know it's not the same, but you look like you could use a hug."

Cuddy laughed and didn't let him repeat it twice, she just turned around and slipped in his friendly embrace. No, it wasn't the same at all: no spicy smell, no solid grip of his hands, no blissful itch of his beard. Still, she knew she was lucky to have not just a lover hug to welcome her in the time of need, but also the one of a friend.

"Maybe he'll mess this one up Cuddy," Wilson said gently. "But he'll try not to."

"Of course he will," she sighed pulling out from his embrace. "He's too stubborn and proud to throw more than one year of his life away."

"That, and he's just too helplessly in love with you to give up now," Wilson said, rolling his eyes at the way she suddenly blushed. "Oh, c'mon!"

"Well, that's going be our little secret," Cuddy smirked at him, then stood near the window again using the reflecting surface to adjust herself, turning back at him. "How do I look?"

"Not like someone whose boyfriend is going through detox," he announced, then grinned staring at her from tip to toe. "And I better stop here, if I don't want your boyfriend to come after me."

"Who knows, it might be an ulterior incentive for his recovery," she chuckled, however grateful for the little and needed boost to her femininity.

"Bring him Rachel now," Wilson dared to suggest, then as she was on her way out he added. "Before it gets worst, as long as you all can get something good out of it."


	33. Chapter 33

33

Following Wilson's advice, however doubtful, Cuddy urged to bring Rachel to House for a quick visit. Quicker than what she had thought, actually. She hoped the first stage could last long enough to let her daughter see House in acceptable and not scary conditions. But her heart have ached badly, when she have noticed how hard he was trying to keep himself together.

It hadn't lost long, 20 minutes more or less… Rachel was beyond happy to see him, genuinely curios and naïvely amused by his bandages and casts. House have even chuckled when the girl had told him he looked like Wile E. Coyote, in some of those cartoons. He have smiled at the kid, and by the sweat pouring from his body Cuddy have known how much it was costing him.

And she knew Wilson was right.

House have already made up his mind. He wanted to get through that, and not just for himself…she just wished wanting could have been enough.

It had become clear soon, that was a withdrawal by the book.

The first yawn, Cuddy hadn't really noticed. But then others have come, and she had taken advantage of that to tell Rachel they should have let House get some sleep. Cuddy have looked at House with a unsure expression, when Rachel have announced she wanted to hug him and kiss him goodnight like mommy did. Grinding his teeth in the gentlest smirk he could, he had nodded yes, laughing painfully and creepy when pulling back from him the kid have stated he stank.

When Cuddy have squeezed his had to say goodbye, she found it cold and sweaty. The moment he was left alone, far from their eyes, he slipped in the second stage.

Wilson was there with him for that part of the journey, handling him tissues to wipe sweat and tears from his face, helping him to drink when the shaking and trembling movement of his body became impossible for him to fight. His friend stayed with him, doing his best to distract him with the latest hospital gossips, and updating him on Sawyer's investigation. House wanted to know, and the oncologist knew knowing he have unmasked something huge would have therapeutically boosted his ego. To Wilson, seeing House play along, pretending to be truly interested in hook ups and massive corruption, gave him mixed reactions. It showed him House was there, fighting, clinging on everything not to think about his body turning the tables on him. But it also showed how hard it was. At every smirk of pain, every grimace of nausea, Wilson expected House to scream and give up, asking for something to get rid of the pain and that endless series of uncontrolled and undesired phenomena his body was putting him through.

Then, pretending became not even an option. Uneventful chatting weren't enough to distract him, and House told him to get the hell out his room and leave him alone. Wilson didn't even try to fight him back, being kicked out was better than hear him beg for a fix. The oncologist wasn't confident enough in his own ability to face that kind of request, not with House in those conditions and his pale face haunting him like a chasing ghost. Chances were, the desperate suffering on his friend's face could really work its way with him, and Wilson didn't want to fall in the trap.

Leaving the room, Wilson actually wondered if House hadn't just done him a favor by kicking him out. He was saving him the ugliest part of the show, and the internal debate whether give him something or not. Then Cuddy came, following his advice she have finally gone home for a few hours, get some break from the hospital's environment, a re-enforcing bath and some quality time with Rachel. As he saw her walking out of the elevator, refreshed and ready to face the new battle, Wilson bit at his bottom lip. Maybe he shouldn't have let her go in, at all. But then she stood in front of him, and he saw in her eyes a determination he didn't feel like question. When Cuddy asked him how House was doing, Wilson saw in her face and attitude the same stubborn need to fight her lover had shown. Cuddy couldn't doubt her own strength, she couldn't afford let herself thinking she was not able to be there, or she would have ended up giving in before even try.

Wilson's silence at her question didn't really seem to bother her. Cuddy hadn't really come there, deluding herself it might have been a walk in the park after all. Then, to his surprise, she smiled fondly at him and squeezed his shoulder, in a silent yet clear passing of the torch. And before he could add something, Cuddy walked past by him heading to the door. Wilson watched her anxiously standing there, looking in House's direction and not budging for what seemed to be eternity, worried at any moment she might turn on her heels and walk out.

And realizing he was holding his breath only when she finally went in, closing the door behind her.

_Why are you here? You shouldn't…I don't want you to see me like this._

_Don't look at me like this House. You knew I would have come._

_Yes, I knew. And I wanted you here, but like this…not like this._

_Think about it carefully House. What you'll tell me now will decide much more than just my actions in the next five minutes._

_I can't do this alone. I know it Cuddy…but I can't drag you down with me either. If I fail-_

_You have to believe in yourself House. I believe in you. You can do it_

_I thought I could handle this, I really did. But it's so hard, the pain-_

_Don't try to fool me with the pain, we both know it will go away eventually. At least try to be honest, with me and with yourself._

_It's just that drugs make it all so easier._

_It just looks easier, nothing that comes with no efforts is entirely worthy and you know it._

_I don't think I could stand another failure Cuddy. It's not just about me anymore._

_I'm gonna be there with you House. But you have to let me be…I need you to want me there with you._


	34. Chapter 34

**_So it came, the end. Again, I am not a doctor and although I do some research, there is going to be a lot of literally interpretation in this chapter._**

**_House and Cuddy have been through a lot, on their own and together: now this experience is giving them the final test._**

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><p><em>Why are you here? You shouldn't… I don't want you to see me like this.<em>

_Don't look at me like this House. You knew I would have come._

_Yes, I knew. And I wanted you here, but like this…no, not like this._

_Think about it carefully House. What you tell me now, will decide much more than just my actions in the next five minutes._

_I can't do this alone. I know it Cuddy…but I can't drag you down with me either. If I fail-_

_You have to believe in yourself House. I believe in you. You can do it._

_I thought I could handle this, I really did. But it's so hard, the pain-_

_Don't try to fool me with the pain, we both know it will go away eventually. At least try to be honest, with me and with yourself._

_It's just that drugs make it all so easier._

_It just looks easier, nothing that comes with no efforts is entirely worthy and you know it._

_I don't think I could stand another failure Cuddy. It's not just about me anymore._

_I'm gonna be there with you House. But you have to let me be…I need you to want me there with you._

34

Those and many, so many other things went on between them. However unsaid and unuttered, words traveled suspended in the air, electrified by the steady power of their gazes. Cuddy was glued at the door by his stare, like a wild animal trapped in a leg hold, fierce and scared at the same time. No matter the nauseating shakes of his body, House felt his bed freezing, crashed by the intensity of her both demanding and ordering look.

Then House just nodded. It was hard to tell he did, with all those uncontrolled jerks, but still Cuddy knew it was her cue. It was the point of no return, and she tilted her chin up while stepping inside the room. She closed the door behind her, cutting out the rest of the world. Whatever was about to happen, was to stay between them two and those four walls. Good thing her privacy call, because the storm of withdrawal symptoms highest peak was about to take over.

First thing Cuddy did, was to turn off the lights in the room, knowing however weak they were bothering him. Then, as she approached the bed, she took off her blouse and rolled up the sleeves of her silky shirt. With a smirk, she thought House's conditions must have been bad, if he didn't feel like pointing out her outfit wasn't right for the circumstances. Which, for the record, was probably true. On the other hand, was there even a proper outfit for that?

Whatever doubts about Cuddy's presence House might have had, they vanished the moment she held his hand. However, no matter her solid yet gentle grip, he couldn't delude himself into thinking it might have been enough. Yet, it was all she did, all he needed her to do. Sitting next to him, holding his hand and ignoring the strong squeezes he gave every time a violent spasm took him. Nothing but being there, wiping sweat from his forehead. Simple yet useful things, such as handing him water and fresh cloths to keep him hydrated, or holding the pan when he had to puke.

There were no words between them, nothing was necessary. House couldn't hide the shivers and the grieving cramps of pain, and Cuddy couldn't ignore the raspy sound of his throat vomiting, or failing to see the involuntary spasms of his feet and arms. Cuddy honestly felt like being there was an honor, and she didn't want to jeopardize her position. After all, staying silent at his side was not something she was used to do. Argue, fight, challenge, games…their life have been made of that long before they became an official item, and that wasn't the moment for her to chicken out.

Countless hours into the process, the burning hell of his body froze, and House asked Cuddy to give him a blanket. Moving quickly but not rushing, she went for the closet and took a couple of blankets, then went back to the bed and started to tug them on him. She was just adjusting one of them around his upper body when House's hand seized her wrist, and despite his solid grip, what really got into her was his gaze, angry and scared at the same time.

"I'm tired Cuddy," he groaned, short of breath, his sweating hand clenching on her wrist.

"I know House, I know," she said softly, desperately fighting back tears. "Hold on-"

"I can't," he coughed out tiredly, slowly shaking his head. "It hurts, everything hurts."

"I know-"

"No, you don't!" He yelled then, hastily tossing away her arm. "You don't know, nobody does. That's the point, nobody fucking does!"

"You're right, we don't," Cuddy shot back drily, fighting him to get both his hands and his attention back. "But I'm here to find out."

An evil, scary laugh came out of his mouth, from the deepest pit of his lungs. Although Cuddy knew that wasn't really him talking, she swallowed down and prepared herself for the rest. Relying on God knew what strength, House straightened up, he tossed the blankets away and for a moment Cuddy really thought he was about to stand up. Her heart ached when even in his painful stupor, he sadly realized there was not enough energy in his body to do what he was up to. Cuddy saw it, she sensed his raging effort was about to crash him, and without even thinking about it she stepped forward wrapping her arms around his chest. Sustaining his weight wasn't easy, but somehow she managed to hold him up. She was about to lay him down again, but with renewed energy House tried to shrug her off him, blurting out words.

"Leave me alone!" He shouted. "Leave me the fuck alone, I don't want this. I don't want this pain again!" All the efforts put in his yelling drained him out, he collapsed and all Cuddy could do was pushing him down and let him sink his face in the pillows, his mouth still rambling words. "I don't want this again. I can't go through that again."

The storm have gone for a moment, and Cuddy just kept her mouth shut and waited for the last drips to disappear. Her apparent calm was fighting with the internal turmoil underneath the steady surface, because inside her the view of House trying to curl back in the bed properly, panting and struggling, was just tearing her apart. Silent, she watched him lay down on his back again, every inch of his body hurting as hell, his breath short and ragged as he tried to sit down closing his eyes.

He should have apologized, he should have said something to her, anything. She was there for him, it was costing her time she could spend with her daughter, energy she could use for something else, emotional investment she could unleash on something good-

"If you need me-"

Cuddy's voice came out soft and gentle, yet amazingly steady, like in a dream. And when House opened his eyes and saw her standing near the drug cabinet, her hand on it like ready to launch an armed bomb, he really thought he was dreaming.

"If you really need me to give you the morphine," Cuddy started again, once she was sure he was paying the necessary attention. "I'll do it," she added, not reacting to his flickering eyes and the way he sucked breath in. Then she tilted her chin up, and went for the all in. "The question is, if you really want me to."

There are moments in life everything just freeze, world just stops and things don't seem what they are anymore. That was the case, yet with one big difference. In moment like those, things usually seem unreal, faded and blurred. But in that case, when the universe took its time for a break, House did too, staring at Cuddy and digging deep into her searching for one and one thing only.

The truth.

About what she have just said, the true meaning of her not so subtle provocation, the real boldness of her challenge, the consistent risk she was taking. Because he was close, really and truly close to tell her yes, to shamelessly beg for a kick. After all, a little something couldn't do him any arm, a crumble of drugs was all he needed to make it through the hardest part. But that was not the only thing he was close to. No matter the ugly and straight detoxing he was facing, thanks to his knowledge of the subject and his constantly working mind, he was well aware how close the goal line was. And it was close, just an arm reach. But damn, why did it have to be so painful? Why couldn't it be just a little easier, just less destroying?

Why couldn't it just be?

"I need," House said, then swallowed down what felt like the biggest lump ever. He bit at his bottom lip till it slightly bleed, his hands desperately gripping the sheets. "I need," he struggled to repeat because of his short breath, but his gaze on Cuddy was as sure as his voice wasn't, as he spoke again. "I need you to get this hospital bigger beds," he said then, interrupted just by a violent spasm of nausea, that however didn't prevent him from finish. "The two of us won't fit in this one."

To prove him wrong, Cuddy stepped away from the drug cabinet and toward him. Without saying a word, she waved her hands at him to scoop away. Too puzzled to react, or ask her anything, he budged on the bed moving his whole damaged body. Cuddy kicked her shoes off, then carefully curled up on the bed next to him, inhaling a long breath as she wrapped one arm around his chest.

Which switched in a sincerely relived one, when he did the same and held her back.

THE END

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><p><strong><em>Thanks to all of you for reading and commenting. If you liked what I did here, keep an eye on my profile because I have more stories ready for you.<em>**


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